


In From the Cold

by Mrs_Stiltskin (Lady_Belles_Teacup)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 17 is legal in Maine, Angst with a Happy Ending, But you will have to wait for it, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Rumbelle Christmas in July 2018, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, Underage but not really, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-06-14 20:01:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15396327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Belles_Teacup/pseuds/Mrs_Stiltskin
Summary: Giftee: EmospriteletPrompt: Rumple saves Belle from the snowRating: Explicit, Smutty and AngstyWarning: Underage - Teacher/StudentA/N My RCIJ gift for @emospritelet. WovenLace Storybrooke AU. Retired Police Detective Callum Weaver is new in town, and sparks fly when he runs into scantily clad barfly Lacey French down at the Rabbit Hole. This is angsty and smutty and I am including an underage trigger warning because Lacey is seventeen, and while the relationship is consensual and legal in Maine, it isn’t everywhere. Also, there is an element of teacher/student.Sprite, your prompt gave me a lot words. I hope you like them! This is not complete - there will be a happy ending!PS: You may find an odd easter egg in this story if you are a diehard Bowie fan!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Emospritelet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emospritelet/gifts).



When she signed up for Intro to Criminal Justice as an elective at Storybrooke High School, the last thing Lacey French expected was trouble in the form of one Mr. Callum Weaver. Her guidance counselor, Miss Blue, had insisted she take the class, though, in Lacey’s mind, that was hardly the side of the law she generally expected to find herself on most days of the week. Still, Ol’ Blue-balls had been annoyingly gleeful when she’d informed Lacey there wouldn’t be room on her schedule for a single free period if she wanted to graduate with the rest of her class.

Lacey kicked herself. Not for the first time, she wondered what difference it would make if she didn’t graduate. It wasn't like she was ever getting out of this two-bit, podunk town anyway. Truth be told, she would probably spend the rest of her life hustling pool at _The Rabbit Hole_ and working at her father’s goddamn flower shop.

Truculent, the word that would probably best describe Lacey’s current mood at finding herself cornered into taking this particular class. Of course, belligerent, obstreperous, or pugnacious would have substituted with equal precision. Criminal Justice. It was a class you took if you thought you might want to be a cop someday. Well, she’d had her fill of bloody cops to last the rest of her life, thank you very much. That’s why her smart mouth had been busy telling everyone who’d listen how stupid and bloody useless this class was going to be, only to have the doorway darkened by the single worst person imaginable walking in behind her to catch every word of her vitriolic tirade.

“Well, well,” he drawled, sauntering to the front of the classroom. The fluorescent lights winking off several silver rings and a bracelet of thick, silver links that decorated his hands and wrists. Elegant hands with long, clever fingers. Of course, Lacey French knew precisely how clever. Exactly how good they’d feel tracing lines of hot fire into her skin. Tangled in her hair while he kissed her into a frenzy. Thrust up inside her, intent on making her come.

“So glad to hear you’re looking forward to our little class, Miss...?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow, and it was an unexpected question left hanging in his soft, mesmerizing voice. His lilting accent was Scottish with a thick Glaswegian burr somewhat diluted from a long time living stateside.

Lacey gaped at him for several seconds, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly. God, he was gorgeous. Her friends would think she was fucking crazy, _but they didn’t know..._ He was older. Late forties, maybe fifty. His almond eyes were rich mahogany with flecks of warm amber, surrounded by the fine lines of middle-age. Close-cropped, sandy brown hair sprinkled through with fine strands of silver just brushed the tips of his slightly pointed ears, and high, angular cheekbones and an angular jawline gave him a certain, distinguished look. His nose was perhaps a little long and a bit crooked, but she’d always thought it suited him perfectly. Lacey’s eyes drifted down to his generous mouth, his bottom lip full and sensual with a little divot in the center that she desperately wanted to run her tongue across.

He was wearing his usual, loose, turned-up blue jeans and a brown leather jacket over an untucked, white cotton button-down. When he turned around, she did not fail to notice how sexy his rear end looked clad in denim, wriggling delightfully as he wrote his name, Mr. Weaver, on the whiteboard. He waited in silence, though she knew very well that he already knew the answer to his own question.

“Uh, French… Lacey French,” she managed.

“Well, Miss French, perhaps you’d care to enlighten us as to why you feel it will be...” He spread his hands, turning to level a cold stare that made her stomach flip. “How did you so eloquently put it? Stupid and useless?” He flashed her a mocking grin full of gleaming white teeth, the bottom ones not unpleasantly crooked. “Or was that bloody useless?”

“Um, no, sir,” she muttered, her cheeks reddening at his sarcastic tone. She folded her arms across her chest, her expression mutinous. “I think you must have misheard.”

“I don’t believe I did, Miss French.” Weaver’s aura permeated the room, and it drove her back in a way she wasn’t used to. “Did I perhaps misunderstand the context of your rather presumptuous claim?”

“Must have, Weaver.” Lacey met his gaze, not willing to entirely give way to him, but unable to muster a single smart-ass rejoinder. Damn it, he was throwing her off her game.

“Mister Weaver,” he cautioned, over-enunciating each syllable. His eyes narrowed, and she looked away, swallowing hard.

“Well, then, perhaps I won’t need to hand out detention on the first day of the new year, and we can move on and get something… useful accomplished today?” He turned away, not sparing her another glance for the duration of the class.

Attendance was taken, syllabi handed out, an outline for the year given, all in the same calm, Scottish lilt that went straight to her core. He never raised his voice or gave any indication that he was other than relaxed and in control of himself and the class, but Lacey could feel his ire, pulsing and crackling just below his placid exterior. Like jagged rocks at the bottom of an idyllic pond, waiting to shred you to pieces the moment you gathered the courage to dive in. Like he’d already shredded her heart.

Weaver set her nerves on edge, her palms sweating. She could tell by the set of his jaw and the twitch of the small muscle in his cheek he was pissed, and as much as he didn’t once look at her, she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Of course, sensing his suppressed fury didn’t stop the clench of arousal she felt at his nearness. She knew precisely how good he would smell if she buried her face in his neck, how spicy and salty his throat would taste beneath her tongue, how reassuring the heat of his skin would feel against hers as he moved inside her. _Fuck, I am in so much trouble._

The bell rang, breaking her out of her entirely unhelpful reverie. Weaver was turned away from them, cleaning the whiteboard. Lacey gathered her things along with her scattered wits and headed for the door behind her friends and the rest of the class. She had some shit to figure out, that was for sure.

“Miss French?” He called without turning, his hand paused, eraser resting quietly against the whiteboard. “My office. Now.”

Her stomach sank to her knees as she halted her steps. Ruby and Emma shot her sympathetic glances before hurrying out of the classroom.

“I’ve got another class in like eight minutes,” Lacey pointed out, her mind racing along with her pulse. It felt like ten-thousand butterflies were suddenly dancing a jig in her stomach.

“I’ll send a note,” he snapped, his voice gruff, cutting off her argument. He finally turned to look at her, and Lacey’s knees turned to jelly at the turbulent darkness in his eyes, a burning intensity that had been hidden during class but was now sending a needle of cold foreboding sliding down between her shoulder blades. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Lacey ducked her head, clutching her books to her chest. She hoped he couldn’t hear the pounding of her heart, following as he turned on the balls of his feet, leading her into his office without a backward glance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's how Weaver and Lacey 'met.' Let's just say sparks flew.

_ Seven months earlier. _

When Callum Weaver wandered into the Rabbit Hole and out of the vicious Maine night, the last thing he’d expected was a stormy-eyed tempest in the form of one Lacey French. It was February in Maine. That meant wet, clinging snow that fell sideways and piled up everywhere, insinuating itself beneath layers of innerwear and outerwear and turning blood to ice. He shook himself off, brushing snow out of his hair and stomping it off his shoes. 

As bone-chilling as it was outside, the dive bar was almost oppressive in its heat. The smell of old beer and the press of too many bodies assaulted his nose, and he hoped olfactory fatigue would set in very soon. The place was crowded on a Saturday night, and it was warm enough that most of the women in the bar had a fair bit of flesh on display, despite the snow falling thick and fast outside. A couple of billiard tables in the back corner had drawn a small crowd, opposite an empty dance floor and a large, flashy jukebox blaring eighties classic rock.

Weaver shrugged off the inadequate leather jacket he was wearing and hung it on the rack by the door. He ordered two double whiskies, neat, from a dark-haired man in a black leather jacket who was holding court behind the bar. The man had that unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed look of the college frat boy about him. Weaver immediately dismissed him as little more than a smarmy cad, but he left a tip anyway. No sense making an enemy of the guy who poured your booze. 

He slapped down two dollars, took a whisky in each hand and slipped into the shadows to find a quiet corner and do what he did best. Observe. He’d arrived in this sleepy little hamlet only a few days ago, and he figured hanging out at the local dive was as good a place as any to get to know his new neighbors.

When he’d retired from the Hyperion Heights Police Department, Detective Callum Weaver had wanted to get as far away from the Seattle area as was practically possible. He’d briefly considered Miami at the suggestion of his colleagues. Miami was literally as far across the country as it was physically possible to get, and as opposite in character to Seattle as one could imagine, but that was, as they say, the rub. 

They were barking mad if they thought he was going to spend the rest of his days sweating his bollocks off in ninety-plus degree heat wearing a wife-beater with shorts and sandals, picking his way around Mickey Mouse loving tourists and blue-haired snowbirds that had long since forgotten how to drive. Did they imagine he’d spend his golden years playing shuffleboard and combing the beaches with a metal detector for loose change? Fuck that. It was probably down to his early years in Glasgow, but if it wasn’t cold and pissing rain, he just didn’t feel at home.

So, Maine it was. Storybrooke. An idyllic fishing town on the Atlantic coast, and as far across the northern half of the country as it was possible to get. He’d let his ex-wife keep everything, the house, the car, even the fucking dog. And to be honest, he’d been quite fond of that dog. But even though the divorce had been granted over a decade ago, Cora had kept her overbearing and critical eye on him, regularly making her opinions about his life choices known around their small town. He was damned if he was gonna stick around Hyperion Heights only to have her breathing down his neck and watching his every move now that he was retired. Fully vested and pensioned. Free at last.

Weaver slipped quietly into a corner booth by the billiard tables, keeping half an eye on the nearby action with casual detachment. He made short work of the first whisky, downing it in a single, long pull, the burning liquid warming its way down to his belly with a pleasant fire. It was by no means what he would call the good stuff, but it wasn’t total shite either. Blaring music filled the room, drowning out most of the chatter. The pounding beat of a Van Halen song thrumming in his ears as he sipped the other and watched the crowd.  _ I’ve got it bad, so bad, I’m hot for teacher... _

Weaver was busy watching a pale, round-faced girl with unusually short, black hair and bright, red lips arguing with her blue-eyed, clearly inebriated prince charming when it happened. When  _ she _ happened. It was her laugh that first got his attention, lusty enough to hear over the music, but not at all unpleasant. 

She was engaged in playful banter with a short, bearded man wearing khakis and a button-down, and if Weaver knew anything about the game, beating him soundly at eight ball. Her unfortunate opponent sneezed mightily, scratching the cue ball in a corner pocket during his shot. The sounds of her boisterous laughter followed the mishap, and the man wiped his nose with a handkerchief before returning to his beer with a grimace. Weaver turned his attention to the girl.

Dark, chestnut curls were piled atop her head in an artless bun. Several tendrils of which had worked themselves loose and fell about her face, framing pale, delicate features. She had large, wide-set eyes like icy aquamarines. Eyes that sparkled with a secret fire. Her mouth was luscious, with full, glistening, pink lips that turned up naturally at the corners, and her high cheekbones tapered gracefully to a narrow chin. Weaver’s eyes lingered on her face, his pulse quickening.

Long gold chains hung from her ears and brushed her shoulders when she moved, gleaming in the dim light of the bar. A tiny black skirt clung to her slim hips, her long legs bare above towering heels of shiny, indigo patent leather. She wore a sleeveless blouse in the same dark blue as her shoes that left her shoulders and back bare, black bra straps clearly visible, as were the inner slopes of her breasts thanks to the plunging neckline. More than just his pulse began to quicken.

She chewed on her bottom lip in a way that was making it hard for him to breathe, her impossibly blue eyes flickering over the table, calculating her next shot. When she bent over to take it, her low-cut top hung open, revealing small, pert breasts cupped in black lace. Thoughts of swirling his tongue in that creamy valley went straight to his groin. When had he become such a fucking horndog? Weaver dragged his eyes back to her face to find her watching him, one perfectly arched eyebrow raised, pool cue poised to shoot.  _ Fuck. _

Her plump, pink lips quirked into a wicked grin and she gave him a saucy wink before turning her attention back to the table and driving the cue forward over her thumb. The sharp crack of balls striking and the dull thump of them dropping into pockets was accompanied by a whoop from the blue-eyed beauty and the other man’s slump of defeat as she took his money with a gleaming, predatory smile. 

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was young, far younger than his fifty-one years, maybe twenty if he had to guess, and he cursed himself for a pervert for paying too much attention to the way her short skirt rode up her generous thighs every time she bent over to take a shot. Of course, he couldn’t feel too bad, she had it on display after all, and she didn’t seem to mind the attention she was drawing. She played game after game, and it was always the same. One guy after another would buy her a drink, rack up the balls, and watch helplessly as she made short work of his ego and his wallet. They literally lined up to give her their money. Weaver shifted in his seat. It was fascinating, and she was fucking beautiful.

A couple of the guys tried to get handsy with her, attempting to smack her rear or press up behind her to cop a feel, but she was savvy, lightning-quick on her high-heeled feet and with her cue stick. One of the offending miscreants nearly got the butt end of that stick in the eye for his trouble. He wouldn’t have minded seeing that, to be honest. The girl all but ignored their assaults, taking them in stride and never letting any of the drunken sots get under her skin. She kept it together with a cool indifference, and he was impressed, restraint like that took a certain inner strength to cultivate.

Weaver got up to find the washroom, making his way down a dimly lit hallway to find it. When he exited a few minutes later into the narrow space, she was waiting for him, leaning casually against the wall opposite the door, examining a chip in the midnight blue lacquer on her fingernails. He gave her a polite nod, intending to slide past and make his way back to his table. 

“See something you like?” She asked tartly, stepping toward him, her eyes sparking with blue fire.  _ You have no idea, sweetheart. _ He felt a nudge in his southward regions.  _ Or maybe you do. _

“Sorry?” He took a step back and raised a deflecting hand, offering her a tight smile. “I was just gonna go get another whisky. Might I buy you a drink?” She ignored the question, her eyes flicking over him in an embarrassingly thorough once-over, and he wondered what she saw.

“You’ve been staring at me all night.” She took another step forward, hips swaying. Her accent, like her electric eyes and the length of her shapely legs, was something he wouldn’t soon forget. Antipodean. Australian he assumed, retreating another half-step until his back was against the closed door of the washroom.  _ Maybe you do indeed. _

“I was just admiring the way you play pool,” he explained, trying to look anywhere but in her eyes, knowing his would give away every inappropriate thought he was having. Weaver settled on her delectable mouth. A grave mistake. He yearned to devour it with his own, and he shoved the thought aside roughly. What was wrong with him?  _ Don’t be such a fucking lecher. _ “You’re brilliant.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she purred, watching his gaze follow her tongue as it poked out to wet her lips. She slid her hand up his chest and pressed herself against him from thigh to belly. Leaning close, she lifted her chin and drew a long breath through her nose, taking in his scent. He held his breath, and when the perfect bow of her full, sweet lips brushed against his in the barest whisper of a kiss, a jolt of electricity arced between them.

Before he could think, Weaver had shoved her against the opposite wall, his lips crashing down on hers, his hands cupping and feeling her generous curves. She moaned softly in the back of her throat, her eager mouth opening to welcome him in. Blood that had been pounding in his ears took a sharp left, sprinting directly for his cock. He darted his tongue out to taste her, sweeping through her mouth, flicking against her palate. She tasted even sweeter than he'd spent most of the evening imagining. 

To his surprise, Weaver sensed no alcohol on her, not in the pleasant wintermint flavor of her mouth or the sweet smell of her breath as it ghosted against his lips, and yet he'd seen her get drinks from nearly every guy she'd hustled. He’d assumed when she approached him that she was more than a little drunk, but she seemed steady enough for those tantalizingly impractical shoes she was wearing and entirely sober.

He'd felt an irrational stab of jealousy every time one of them had bought her a drink, played pool and laughed and joked with her, gotten close, or put their bloody hands on her. He’d wanted to take every one of the offending delinquents out behind the bar and beat them within an inch of their worthless lives. He was a fool. Who was this girl to him? Nothing more than a pretty face in a bar, and young enough to make him look ridiculous for even thinking about it. 

Now, in the space of a breath, he had her pressed up against the wall of this dingy hallway with his tongue halfway down her throat. One hand caressing the luscious curve of her ass, the other cupping one small but perfect breast while she ground her hot center against his thigh. What the fuck did he think he was doing?

Weaver’s brain was currently trying to work out if he was having some sort of lucid wet dream, the like of which he hadn’t experienced since he was a horny teenager. But he could feel her moist heat against his thigh, and the way she was sucking on his tongue was beyond even his most feverish teen fantasy. Her hands were at his waist, tugging him against her, her tongue slipping across his bottom lip and into his mouth, and he found his loose jeans were quickly becoming less and less comfortable due to a rapidly expanding problem.

Callum Weaver wasn’t really the one-night-stand in a bar kind of guy, but gods, it had been a long fucking time, and she was the most beautiful creature he’d ever had the good fortune to lay eyes upon. He hadn’t a clue why, but she’d approached him, she’d kissed him. Let the world be damned, but he wanted her. He fought the primal urge to push her dirty, wee skirt up over her hips, bury himself inside her sumptuous, lithe little body, and thrust until she screamed.

Instead, he broke the kiss, pulling back in an attempt to regain some semblance of control, searching her eyes and trying to figure out why the hell she was here making out with the likes of him. For a moment, he thought she was even younger than he first suspected, and he meant to disengage. He should speak with her, buy her a drink, perhaps learn her bloody name before debauching her, but she was looking at him for all the world like she wanted to eat him alive. Pearl white teeth bit down on her lower lip in a way that made a short circuit directly to his groin, and when her hand reached down between his legs to cup his rigid cock, his thoughts scattered like thistle pods in the wind.

The hallway was dark and narrow, the perfect venue for a nameless assignation. Weaver was a small man, barely five foot eight, but she was tiny even compared with him and even in platform stilettos, and he covered her body with his, shielding her from view. She reached up to kiss him again, catching his bottom lip with her teeth and tugging on it. He growled in approval.  _ So that’s how she wants to play this. _

When she dragged herself against his thigh, grinding down hard, looking for a particular pressure, Weaver slid his hand around, caressing down over her hip and back up between her thighs. She groaned into his mouth as his finger traced along the edge of her panties, working up under the lace to find silky, hot flesh, already slick with desire. His fingertips slipped against the smooth, hard pearl of her clit and he felt her knees go weak.

Weaver left her mouth to kiss along her jawline, nipping at the lobe of her ear, and slipping his tongue inside. She shivered at his touch, and the sensation rippled through him,  his heart thumping in anticipation. All he could think about was remembering how to please her, and he hoped it was like riding a bicycle. 

“I’m gonna put my fingers inside you, sweetheart,” he crooned against her ear, his tongue caressing, his teeth nibbling. “I’m going to put them in your sweet, hot, little cunt, and I’m gonna make you come. Would you like that?  Is that what you want? Tell me.”

“Yes!” she breathed, nodding vigorously. She put her arms around his shoulders, holding herself up as he slid his hand down into her panties to cup her mound, the tips of his fingers opening up her soft petals and circling the sweet nub of her clit. His cock surged hard against the front of his jeans at the feel of her wet, velvet heat.

“Yes, please,” she begged softly as he pressed his lips to her throat, tracing his tongue along her collarbone. She tasted like clover honey, and Weaver could smell her arousal, his nostrils flaring to draw in her delicate scent. 

“So polite,” he whispered against her throat, plucking soft skin gently between his lips and sucking. She groaned, collapsing against him and he sucked harder, marring the flawless porcelain of her skin with a crimson stain. He ran the flat of his tongue over the small hurt and leaned back to admire his handiwork. “You ask so nicely for what you want.” 

His first two fingers dipped inside her, and she was every bit as hot and wet and tight as he’d hoped. She widened her stance, and he pushed his fingers deeper, thrusting in and out, his palm rubbing hard against her clit. She was soaking wet, her warm juices dripping and pooling in his hand. His skin prickled pleasantly at the thought of tasting her, and he pulled out his glistening fingers. Lifting his head to lock eyes with her, he slipped them into his mouth with a wet, sucking sound. Weaver closed his eyes, moaning as the sweet taste of her nectar spread across his tongue. 

Her eyes were wide as saucers when he opened his again, her moist, kiss-bruised lips parted and panting as she watched his fingers slip from his mouth. He gave her a slow and wicked grin, tongue thrust between his teeth, “You taste like heaven, sweetheart. A man could live on manna like that.”

Her gaze burned through him, ice blue turned to searing fire, wild and dark with lust. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, and he growled, diving in to capture it with his own. Weaver sucked and bit at it, plunging his hand back down between her soft thighs and into her panties. He thrust two fingers knuckle deep, circling her clit with his thumb. 

She panted and shook, breathy little pleas tumbling into his mouth as he worked her rhythmically, letting her move her hips against him in her own tempo. His cock was aching and rigid and probably leaking in his jeans. Weaver pressed the hard length of it against her hip to get a modicum of relief, but all his concentration was for her. He needed this beautiful creature to fall apart for him, and he could tell by the way her flesh was clenching and pulling at his fingers that she was oh, so wonderfully close.

She stiffened against him, her thighs trembling. He kept her rhythm, pressing and circling and thrusting, angling his fingers inside her to hit that little spot he knew would drive her up and over the precipice. She broke the kiss, gasping for breath, their lips slippery and wet with saliva, silvery strands stretching between them. 

He was panting, too, short, shallow breaths against her cheek. Her nails scratched at his scalp, tugging him closer so she could bury her teeth hard in his shoulder, desperate to muffle her cries as she came fluttering and grasping around his fingers. 

She shuddered as he slipped his fingers from her, her lips curled up in a shy smile, something suddenly soft in her expression. She licked her lips, watching with hooded eyes as he brought his fingers once again to his mouth, humming quietly in approval as he breathed in her delicate fragrance. 

Weaver couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t flattering her when he’d said she tasted like heaven. Something undefinable about her scent and flavor called to his very soul. He was a sentimental old fool, and it had been far too long since he'd bedded a woman. The sleepy satisfaction in her eyes filled him with an intoxicating pride, savoring the unique taste of her as he slowly sucked her bliss from his fingers. He was already hopelessly addicted to the subtle flavor of her ecstasy. It had been a long time indeed.

His cock was still hard against her thigh, though the urgency had passed and his erection subsiding. He was still horny as fuck. Her clover honey scent was on his lips and in his nose, fueling his lust to be buried balls deep in her sweet, wet heat. Weaver briefly considered dragging her into the washroom and locking the door if she was amenable, but what he really wanted was to ask her back to his place, where he could lay her down and take his time with her. Where he could whisper her name in the dark and make her come again and again, drinking down that sweet nectar until she begged him to fuck her hard.

She pressed kisses to his neck, still panting and coming down from her high, caught between him and the wall. He leaned in to whisper to her, to ask her back to the cabin he was renting, when he felt a hand on his shoulder trying to spin him around. Weaver shrugged off the hand, glancing quickly over his shoulder, poised to fight.

“Hey, none of that back here, man. You two are gonna have to move along,” barked the greasy bartender who’d served him earlier. The girl shrunk down, ducking her head to the side, but the other man recognized her, and he felt her sag against the wall. He heard the bartender scoff. “Lacey. I should have known.”   


He gave Weaver’s shoulder a clap, and Weaver wanted to turn around and bury his fist in the other man’s abdomen. The man snickered, “Good luck with that one, she’s a fucking tease.” Inclining his head toward Lacey, he curled his lip in an ugly sneer. “Aren’t you, Lacey?”

“Shut up, Keith,” Lacey bit out, her hands balling into fists, the fire in her blue eyes turning instantly to shards of ice. She shrunk in on herself, no longer the brash and wanton goddess.

Keith snorted derisively, gesturing to her. “Don’t get me wrong, Lacey puts on a real good show, but she never comes across, if you know what I mean.”   


Weaver turned slowly on the balls of his feet to face the unwelcome interloper, the muscle in his cheek twitching out a warning. He showed the other man his teeth in a contemptuous grin, “Well, that's just fascinating because I didn't have any trouble at all making her come. So…”

“Shut the hell up, both of you,” Lacey snapped, stomping her foot and folding her arms across her chest. “I don’t appreciate being part of your bloody alpha male pissing match here.” 

Weaver grimaced, shooting Lacey an apologetic glance. She was right, it was a tactless thing to say. He was stupid to let his temper get the better of him, but arousal had his blood already thrumming in his veins, and he wasn’t inclined to back down from this posturing imbecile. Lacey looked daggers at him with those cold blue eyes, her brows drawn down, the set of her chin firm, but she didn’t say anything further. 

Keith’s jaw dropped a bit, his eyes going wide and flicking back and forth between Lacey and Weaver. He scoffed at Lacey, pointing an accusing finger at Weaver. “What, you… and him?” He shook his head, greasy, black hair flopping over one eye, and turned to Weaver, “Don’t mess with me, old man. She’s a frigid bitch, but I’ve been working on her for like, a year, and you can’t just push in here thinking you have a fucking shot with her. Your balls’ll be as blue as her shirt when she’s done with you.”

“You’re a fucking asshole, Keith.” Lacey thrust a finger at the bartender’s chest, her face flushing crimson with rage. “You don’t fucking own me!”

“Settle down, Lacey,” he growled, pushing back at her with his chest. “Stupid sluts don’t get to shoot their mouth off at me like that.”

In less than a blink, Weaver had stepped between them and shoved Keith back against the wall with a wiry strength that threw the other man off balance. “That’s enough,” he ground out, pinning Keith with a knee directly in his groin. His hand instinctively felt at his side to loosen the gun he wasn’t carrying in the holster he wasn’t wearing.  _ Easy, Weaver. _

“God, you’re both fucking assholes,” Lacey spat. The flat of her hands shoved at him, pushing past both of them and stomping off down the hallway, disappearing into the crowd.

Weaver’s blood pounded with rage as he regarded the vile piece of shit in front of him. He was only recently retired, and he knew a dozen ways to incapacitate this cretinous dolt before he could make a sound. No gun required. 

He decided his shot with Lacey was worth more to him. Even so, he surged forward against the other man’s chest, pressing him back against the wall. Weaver bared his teeth in a feral snarl, pointing one contemptuous finger an inch from Keith’s nose. “She can’t be both, you literal waste of skin. So, tell me, is she a frigid bitch or a slut?”

“Uh, what are you talking about?” Keith went still, sensing Weaver was more dangerous than he appeared. He wasn’t wrong.

“You’re gonna tell me which one you think she is so I can decide whether to punch you in the face or rip your fucking tongue out.” Spittle flew out of Weaver’s mouth, spattering Keith’s cheek. Keith flinched back, turning away and raising his hands in a placating gesture.

“Listen, old man, what is she to you? You don’t even know her.” He chuckled darkly, “Every guy in this joint’s been looking to get a little action for the last fucking year, but no one I know has gotten past second base.”

“Second base, what are you in high school?” Weaver snarled, giving Keith’s cheek a light slap.

“No, but she is,” Keith drawled, inclining his head in the direction Lacey had stormed off. His hands still raised in a defensive position. One corner of his mouth drew up in a mocking grin, “Oh, ho. You didn’t know, did you?”

Weaver shook his head, a little gobsmacked, and Keith smirked. “You know she’s like sixteen, right? I mean, she’s legal and all, but c’mon gramps...”

Weaver paled.  _ Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.  _ He didn’t know what kind of monster he was, but gods help him, he still wanted to go out there and find her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacey stormed out of the Rabbit Hole after she and Weaver had a pleasant encounter interrupted by a not so pleasant man. Weaver catches up to her and rescues her from walking home in the snow.

Lacey grabbed her coat.  _ Bloody fucking men _ . They were all worthless fucking idiots. She burst out into the frigid Maine night, breath streaming hard in white plumes. The snow was falling, thick and wet, already piling up in drifts against the sides of the buildings. and making the sidewalk an icy, treacherous death trap. Especially in her ridiculous shoes.  _ Whatever. _ She’d bloody well figure it out, but as she pulled her short, black, wool coat tighter, she began to regret her bare legs and her daft heels. It had seemed a good idea when it was daylight and forty-five, and she’d made her way to the Rabbit Hole to hustle her little collection of hopefuls at pool. Now she was fucking freezing, and it was a long walk home to her father’s place across town.

There was nothing for it. She’d freeze to death before she went back into that vile joint tonight. Not even to ask for a ride home from any of her ‘friends.” Fuck Keith. He was dumber than he looked if he thought he could control her. She wasn’t his bloody girlfriend, or anyone else’s for that matter. Fuck all of them. Fuck the new guy, too. Why did he have to be a typical sexist pig and say that shit to Keith? She’d really liked him, too. He was fucking gorgeous, and he did very pleasant things to her insides. Lacey shivered, and not entirely from the cold and snow, her lips remembering his kiss and her body his touch.

She’d noticed him the moment he walked into the Rabbit Hole, the way he stood, taking everything in with a calm confidence, the way he moved with a sinuous grace, the way he looked around the bar like he owned the place. Not in a blustering, arrogant way, like usual tools she hung out with. No, this was a man who held quiet power, and Lacey liked that. True, he looked old enough to be her father, but she definitely had a certain appreciation for older men. When she’d made out with one or two of her classmates over the years, she’d never found it satisfying, never felt that spark in her belly that she somehow knew should be there.

Then there was Keith and Gary and a couple of the older guys that worked or hung out at the Rabbit Hole. When she’d made out with them, at least there had been something knowing in the way they’d kissed and touched her. Something that made her learn to want. Not that she wanted either of those two losers. God, no. They were never going anywhere but that dingy dive bar in this stupid little town. Lacey was smart enough to know that when she let them touch her, when their tongues probed her or their hands groped her tits or ass, it was for their own pleasure, never hers. 

But not this guy. Desire had sparked in her belly the moment their eyes met, turning to burning fire when his kiss had held the promise of something she didn’t quite yet understand. And if her desire had been burning fire while their mouths had been busy, it was a raging inferno once he’d shown her what he could do with his fingers. The lust in his eyes as he’d sucked his own fingers clean of her juices had been intoxicating. It seemed his intention was her pleasure, or perhaps rather that his satisfaction was found in pleasing her. It was a new concept to Lacey, and one she was eager to explore further.

It threw her off if she was honest. The tables had turned on her, and she no longer felt like the one in control. She’d lost her carefully cultivated upper hand. In a way, she kind of liked it, succumbing to his power, trusting herself to his knowing hands. There was a heady sort of pleasure in surrender that she thought she could learn to enjoy, but it also made her wary because she couldn’t protect herself if she weren’t the one in charge.

On the other hand, she appreciated the fact that by checking in and asking her permission before bringing her off, he had put power back into her hands. She somehow knew that if she’d refused, he would have backed off immediately and without complaint. Unlike Gary or Keith or any of the others who got whiny and sometimes downright horrible when she’d wanted to slow things down like she owed them a kiss or a grope or something more every time they bought her a goddamn coke.

Lacey shivered, her breath freezing in the air. She picked her way gingerly along the slippery sidewalk, the snow falling sideways in the cold glare of the streetlamps. Silver flakes of winter’s ire catching in her hair and sticking to her eyelashes. She was going to be lucky if she didn’t bloody well die of exposure on the way home. She pushed her hands further into her pockets.  _ Fucking men. _

Still, Lacey kinda wished Keith hadn’t interrupted their interlude. She was more than curious to learn where it had been leading. She hoped she’d see him again. Maybe he wouldn’t think she was a bloody psycho for screaming at them and storming off. Maybe they could get to know one another. 

Her insides ached with want, leaving an unsettling emptiness where his fingers had been, and she probably needed to take care of that when she got home, or she would lie awake all night filled with restless energy.  _ If _ she got home. She really was freezing her tits off. The smart thing to do would probably be to go back and ask one of the guys to drive her home. Of course, they’d expect something for their trouble, and she just didn’t have it in her. Maybe Mary-Margaret was still there, and she could get a ride with her and David Nolan, though she’d seen them arguing, and well, wouldn't that be awkward.  _ Ugh. _

A thrill buzzed through her as she felt the distinct rumble of a muscle car pull up behind her, engine purring like a big cat. Gary hadn’t been around, and Keith wouldn’t have left his shift to come find her. Was it Magic Fingers?  _ Please, let it be him. _ She wanted to look, but she kept her eyes forward, and she kept walking.  _ Keep it cool, Lace.  _ He called out to her, his warm Scottish lilt making her belly twitch, though she wasn’t ready to admit that straight away. She was going to make him work for it. He  _ had _ been an ass for saying that shit to Keith, and she hadn’t entirely forgiven him. 

“Lacey, come on,” he pleaded. “Get in the car, please. It’s brass monkeys out here.”

“Wow, your powers of observation are truly impressive,” Lacey snapped, rolling her eyes.

“Lacey…”

“Look, I’m fine. I don’t need your help,” she insisted, sheer stubborn pride ruling her. Of course, her foot picked that moment to slide forward on the icy cement, and she wobbled precariously. Wet snow and ice had worked its way into her wholly impractical shoes, numbing her toes and rendering her dangerously unsteady.

“Please, if you don’t freeze to death you’re going to crack your bloody skull. Trust me, I can’t live with that.” His accent was thick in his distress. She stopped and turned, giving him an appraising stare. His sad, whisky-brown eyes were pleading at her from across the front seats of a black Dodge Charger, white clouds spewing from the tailpipe in the frosty air, the engine growling as he crept along beside her. It was hard to resist those puppy-dog eyes, and it certainly looked warmer in there, but she wasn’t quite ready to capitulate just yet. Even though what she really wanted to do was hop in the car and kiss him senseless.  _ Not yet. _

“Why should I trust you? I don’t even know you.” 

He chuckled. “Callum Weaver. Just moved here from Seattle about a week ago, and I truly hope you enjoyed the orgasm.”

Lacey rolled her eyes.  _ Geez. _ Could he not, just for a fucking moment? She turned to walk, her frozen toes betraying her as she almost went down in a tangle of limbs like a newborn foal. 

“No, no,” he insisted, instantly apologetic. “Stop. Please. Lacey, I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant we’re not exactly strangers at this point, are we? Come on, get in. It’s fucking snowing out there, and it’s nice and warm in here.”

“Said the spider to the fly.” Lacey gave him a pointed look, but she stood stock still, her breath billowing out in icy plumes.

He chuckled at her clever reference, and she softened.

“Let me drive you home. Please.”

Lacey turned back toward him, and her icy breath caught in her chest. He’d jumped out of the car and come around to open the door for her. He took her by the hand to steady her as she stepped off the curb, and warmth flooded through her. For the first time in her life, someone else was concerned about her. Weaver saw  _ her. _ Considered _ her. _

He guided her carefully into the passenger seat, brushing away the snow that had piled in the open window and making sure she was comfortable before closing the door and getting back behind the wheel. She felt that quickening of her blood at his touch, and she wondered if he still wanted her after whatever Keith had told him, or if he was just trying to be nice.

Lacey watched Weaver stare at his own hands opening and closing reflexively on the steering wheel. Was he trying to decide what to say or do, now that he had her in the car? Weaver gave her a sideways glance, his mouth flattening and his forehead creased, the silence awkward and oppressive. Keith. He’d called her a slut, and Weaver was probably attempting to work out whether he’d made a grave error in judgement when he’d stuck his fingers inside her and then in his mouth. She wondered if Keith had told Weaver her age. Fuck it...there was only one way to find out what the man was thinking. She took a breath…

“Thanks for rescuing me,” she blurted out at the exact same time as Weaver finally spoke.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Weaver asked, as though he wasn’t sure he really wanted the answer. 

Their eyes met, and Lacey giggled. Weaver waved off her thanks.    


“Keith?” Lacey made a moue, going back to his question. “Fuck, no! Sometimes he acts like he owns me because he lets me in the bar to play pool.”

“Hustle you mean,” Weaver teased. She thought he looked relieved. That was a good sign, right?

“Yeah, well, I give him ten percent,” Lacey admitted, cupping her hands over the heater vent on the dashboard. His eyebrows shot up, but he didn’t comment.

“Does he serve you alcohol?” he asked.

Lacey shook her head, aiming a different vent towards her frozen legs, the forced air blessedly warm. “No, he’s an idiot and a creep, but he’s not stupid enough to let me drink in there.”

“Does he touch you if you tell him you don't want to be touched?” He glanced over at her, genuine concern in his mahogany eyes. Though Lacey sensed something more there, an undercurrent of violent intent that could flare to life at a word from her, hinging upon her answer.

“Not really, I mean we’ve made out a few times...” Lacey rubbed her thighs, a little uncomfortable with the direction of his questions. “He gets a little handsy sometimes, but I know how to aim a well-placed elbow and make it hurt.”

“I bet you do.” Weaver chuckled, genuinely amused.  “If you recall, I was watching you play pool. I saw you take those guys down, one by one, and still make them think they were winning. You’re very capable.”

Lacey shrugged. “Yeah, well...a girl's got to know how to protect herself in this bloody world.”

“That’s wise.” Weaver hesitated before asking his next question, again looking for all the world as though he didn’t want to know the answer. 

“So you’re really sixteen?” he asked softly, his expression almost pained.

Lacey’s eyes narrowed, “I knew he’d tell you. Probably called you gramps or something...” Weaver’s jaw tightened, and Lacey grimaced. “Fuck him. He should mind his own business.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest defensively, “Anyway, I’m actually seventeen. What of it?”  


“You just let me put my fingers in a minor,” he answered without humor.

“You didn't ask. Maybe you didn't want to know the bloody truth.”

“Fair point.” He chuckled. “Aiming to become a lawyer, are you?”

She made a face, shaking her head. She still wanted him, and he was still talking to her, and he hadn’t made any further mention of taking her home. At least not to  _ her _ house. She took a breath and decided to push the issue. 

“Look, age of consent in Maine is sixteen.” Lacey pointed out, matter-of-factly, “I'm not jailbait or anything. I can fuck whoever I want. Besides, I haven't actually been seventeen since I was like twelve.”

“That doesn’t make it right.” Weaver sighed heavily, gazing at the snow gathering on the windshield in little clumps. “Sometimes there's a pretty big difference between what's legal and what's moral.”   


“You sound like a bloody priest,” Lacey grimaced, “or a cop.”

“Retired.”

“Priest?” She wrinkled her nose in disbelief. Weaver’s eyebrows shot up, and he gave a little snort, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Lacey’s stomach did a little backflip.  _ Fuck, he was cute when he did that. _

“No, cop.” He shook his head in exasperation, but his eyes were full of warm mirth and his lips quirked in a lopsided grin.   _ Damn.  _

“Right.” Lacey snorted and raised her eyes to the heavens. “I  _ had _ to pick the fucking cop.”

“Aye, and old enough to be your father,” he pointed out, splaying his hands in a helpless shrug.

“My father's a piece of shit. Let's leave fathers out of this shall we?” Lacey gave him a warning glance. Territory she was not willing to discuss for the moment.

“Very well,” Weaver acquiesced. He was gripping the steering wheel again, the silver rings on his pinky fingers glinting in the harsh glare of the street lights. She couldn’t help thinking about the way his mouth had tasted, how it had felt.  She shivered.

They lapsed into a heavy silence, Lacey picking at the chip in her nail polish. In a moment, Callum Weaver was going to ask her where she lived so he could take her home and that, as they say, would be that. They would each go their own way, their brief encounter fading into memory as they carried on their separate trajectories. She couldn’t bear it. She should tell him. Kiss him. Do  _ something _ for fuck’s sake. Even if she did, would he give in? Would he abandon his morals for the pleasure of the moment? Did he even still want her?

Lacey longed for him to take her home and satisfy the yearning he had aroused in her. She needed him to fill the empty space his clever fingers had left and show her what two people could be to each other. She gathered her courage to say something, anything, to keep him there with her. Lacey turned her head to look at him and found him staring at her, lust and something approaching anguish at war in his eyes. He tilted his head to the side and leaned closer, searching for something in her eyes. Lacey held her breath under his intense scrutiny, moisture already pooling between her thighs.    


“What is it you want Lacey?” he whispered, his chest was rising and falling rapidly. His knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. “Do you want me to take you home? Or take you home and fuck you?”

“The second one,” Lacey breathed.

“Say it,” he closed his eyes, waiting for her.

“I want you to take me home and fuck me.”

He swallowed hard, opening his eyes to look at her, a slow smile spreading across his face. His dark eyes still burned with desire, but the anguish had fled. The war ended. “Then I shall.”

Lacey’s nerves suddenly caught up to what was happening, and she blurted, “But won't that damage your precious morals?” She regretted the words before they left her lips. But to her surprise, Weaver only chuckled darkly.

“I never said I had any.”

“But…”

“I said there was a difference, I never said I had any.” he clarified. 

Weaver reached over and put a gentle finger under Lacey’s chin, lifting it until he could look into her eyes. She was surprised at the warmth of the desire in his, and it brought back the flutter of want that coursed through her at his touch. He leaned across and kissed her mouth with a soft pressure that went straight to her core, as did his next words. 

“You're beautiful, Lacey. And if you want me to, I want to take you home and show you at least a dozen ways I can think of to make you come. And then fuck you until neither of us can walk properly.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacey and Weaver go back to his place. Weaver has some second thoughts...Lacey makes them go away.

Clinking of the snow tires on the Charger became a soft crunch as they turned off the pavement and into the woods. The snow here was pristine and glittering, crystalline, white in the headlights, the only indications of the forest road the wide space between the trees and occasional reflective buttons affixed to the trunks. Lacey’s stomach did an anxious dance. Why was he taking her into the National Forest? 

Weaver reached over and put a warm hand on her thigh, his thumb caressing gently. Lacey glanced up at him, and his eyes were dancing with laughter. “I’m not taking you to the woods to murder you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Funny you should mention that...” Lacey laughed nervously. And then, still anxious... “Where  _ are _ we going?”

“I’m renting a cabin out here,” he answered, “from the local landlord. It’s beautiful, there’s a pond out back. It’s frozen solid now, but I bet it’s spectacular in the fall. He wasn’t very keen on parting with it, even temporarily. But I offered him enough to make it worth his while.”

“Mr. Gold’s cabin.”

“You know it then?” he asked, surprised.

“Everybody knows it,” Lacey explained. “It’s the only private cabin out here. And everybody knows Mr. Gold.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow as they pulled up in front of the cabin.

“He’s kind of a hardass when it comes to the rent.” Lacey shrugged. “My father’s been on the wrong side of him more times than I can count. He hates the guy.”

Weaver got out and walked around to open the door for her. He took her hand to help her out and offered his arm as they picked their way through the glistening snow to the porch that appeared to wrap around the cabin. She wanted him to kiss her, but it was cold, and the snow was still falling in soft white curtains, a silent rainstorm that muffled the world in its hoary embrace. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry other than to get them both into the warmth of the cabin. 

“I don’t see any reason to hate a man simply because he expects his contracts to be honored,” Weaver mused, unlocking the front door and ushering her in. 

“He’s pretty merciless, and doesn’t accept much in the way of excuses, but honestly, he’s usually pretty fair. I can’t say I hate him.” Lacey shook her head, glancing around to take in the room. “This place is gorgeous.”

Suddenly, Weaver was right there, his warm hands cradling her cold cheeks. His eyes were sparkling. “This place is pretty,” he informed her, “ _ you _ are gorgeous.” 

He bent down and pressed his mouth to hers, slowly sliding his tongue along the seam of her lips to encourage her to open for him. Lacey parted them gladly, loving the way his tongue pushed and thrust against hers in gentle, probing sweeps. This kiss lacked the urgency of the ones they’d shared at the Rabbit Hole, though it held no less passion, to which the flutter in her belly could attest. That had been the promise of a quick fuck in the bar washroom, hot and heavy, but not the way she’d really planned to lose her virginity. 

_ This, though. _ This was a slow seduction, and she was anxious and excited to learn what he had to teach. This is what she had hoped for in the moments she had allowed herself to hope for anything. She’d hoped for knowing hands, strong and firm and passionate, but also gentle and kind. Not the boorish groping she’d come to expect. And it was Weaver himself who had enlightened her to the possibilities of a lover whose prime desire was her pleasure.

Weaver’s fingers moved down to unfasten the belt of her overcoat and back up to pluck open the buttons so he could slide his arms around her, under the coat. Their mouths were locked together in a delicious dance, wet and slippery. He liked to open his mouth and flick his tongue across her palate, and she returned the gesture, sliding her tongue against the rough texture of the roof of his mouth. He shuddered, and Lacey found a heady sort of power in the fact that she could elicit such stirrings in him.

Weaver broke the kiss and gave her a little grin as he took her coat, hanging it by the door next to his. 

“Let me get the fire going,” he offered. The place was heated by radiators, but it was still too cold to be comfortable so deep in winter. “I’ll light the stove in the bedroom as well, make yourself comfortable. There’s drinks in the fridge.”

“I’m fine.” She watched him gather the wood from a basket and begin to lay it on the grate. 

Lacey reconsidered. “Do you have stuff to make tea?” He gave her a flat look.

“I’m Scottish, my dear.”

Lacey giggled, her belly clenching pleasantly at the small endearment, “Then I’ll make some.” He nodded and turned back to laying the wood for the fire, stuffing bits of kindling and twisted paper between the larger pieces in some mysterious formula that certain people seemed to just know by instinct. It was weird. 

She took the time to look around. The cabin was small but comfortably appointed with quality furniture. All of it nicer than the stuff in her father’s dumpy place. There was a large fur rug in front of the fireplace, an overstuffed sofa of soft, brown leather with nailhead accents, and two comfortable looking chairs that faced the fire, cozy throws draped casually over the backs. On the other side of the room was a small kitchenette with a farmhouse sink, gas stove, and a full-size refrigerator. A small wood table and two chairs were tucked under a window that looked out over the back porch and the frozen pond beyond. The decor was rustic and warm, all reds and golds and deep browns.

Lacey found the kettle already on the stove and a china teapot nearby on the counter. Scottish indeed she laughed to herself. Peeking in a few cabinets and drawers netted her loose herbal tea and the steeper, two mugs and some sugar cubes. She filled the kettle, clicking on the gas stove to heat the water, and waited for it to boil. The night was very cold, so cold it had finally stopped snowing, and hoarfrost had already started on the windows, growing in the delicate patterns of nature’s geometry. She traced her finger across the frosted glass, crystalline white ferns reproduced in miniature beginning to spread across the panes. She shivered in the cool air, the warmth from the fireplace not yet permeating the cabin.

Weaver came back through from the bedroom, snuggling up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and resting his chin on her shoulder after placing a gentle kiss there. He was wonderfully warm against her back. She relaxed into him, both of them staring out at the peaceful scene beyond the window. Pale blue moonlight from a moon nearly full gleamed on every surface, curved and softened by snow, every tree branch picked out in glowing white against the black sky above. It was breathtaking.   


“Thanks again for rescuing me from the snow and my own stubborn pride,” Lacey said, rubbing the backs of his hands and leaning her head to rest against his.

“I wasn’t about to let you walk home in those shoes.” He gave her a squeeze. “I’m not usually the stalker type, but I would have been most disappointed to learn you had succumbed to the elements.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the type to succumb.” Lacey turned in his embrace, lifting her face for a kiss. Weaver eagerly obliged, and they were just getting into the rhythm of it when the kettle let out a shrill whistle. Weaver gave her a sly smile and released her to make the tea.

“I am from Oz, you know.” A little needle of irritation sliding between her shoulder blades that he’d jumped in to make the tea, as though she might not do it right. “I make a mean pot of tea.”

“Really? I would never have guessed, your accent is barely noticeable,” he teased. Lacey stuck her tongue out at him, and he merely shook his head. “You’re my guest. It wasn’t an assumption that you didn’t know how to make tea. Sugar?”

“Yeah.” Lacey’s stomach gave a traitorous lurch, her anxiety about what was going to happen with Weaver reaching up through her chest to tighten her throat. “Sorry, a lot of people assume that I can’t do shit all the time. It’s pretty annoying, to be honest.”

“I assume you’re good at more than hustling pool and kissing, Lacey.” He came over with two steaming mugs. The blue tin sort that had little white speckles. The kind you’d find in some mountain man’s camping gear. At least if she were her usual awkward self and dropped one, it wouldn’t chip. “Sorry about the mugs, I don’t have any china here except the pot.”

“It’s fine, Weaver.” Lacey took the mug gratefully, cradling it between her chilled palms and breathing in the pleasant scents of lavender and lemon balm. “Thanks,” she said, lifting the mug in salute and taking a sip. 

 

* * *

 

“You can call me Callum or Cal if you like,” he offered, watching her fidget over the rim of his mug. She was like an awkward foal, all legs and arms as she tried to settle into a comfortable position.

“I’m sticking with Weaver if that’s OK,” she answered, her electric eyes flicking briefly to him before sliding away again to stare at the fire. Her adorable mouth was set in a little nervous pout as she watched the dancing flames.

“Of course.” He shrugged, leaning against the mantel. “Nobody actually calls me Cal, and only my mother and my ex-wife ever called me Callum.” He chuckled and sipped his tea.

“You were married?” Her eyes drifted back to him, her face lighting up. She was interested in this new information.

“Twice, in actual fact. Milah, three years. Cora, fifteen. Blissfully divorced for ten.” 

“Kids?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Did you want to?” she asked, curiosity seeming to distract her from her nerves. He shrugged. 

“It just never seemed like the right time,” he answered honestly, poking at the fire and rearranging the logs for better airflow

“Did you love either of them?” Lacey asked, perhaps a little note of wistfulness in her tone.

“I did, once upon a time.” He sighed heavily, remembering the good times before his relationships went sour. “Each in their own way, I suppose. Milah was so long ago, it’s just a blur. We were young and not well suited, and it was over as quickly as it began. Cora, though, I thought we would make it, but she wanted me to be more ambitious. I loved being a detective, but that didn’t pay nearly enough for her liking. I think she’s married to a senator now.”

“I’m not really hearing the desperate pangs of lost romance.” She tilted her head and gave him an appraising look, tapping her fingernails against her mug with little metallic clicks.

“Sometimes the goal is to just not be alone.” It was a sad admission, but the truth. 

She bit her lip, sucking it between her teeth, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’m not sure if I believe in love,” she admitted.  _ Oh. _

“You should.” It hurt his chest to think this lovely girl had already lost her faith in love at seventeen. “I still do, or like to think I do, regardless of my poor relationship choices.” He returned the poker to its stand. Would tonight be to her benefit or her detriment? He didn’t know, but he would do his damnedest to make sure it was the former.   


“So, did you dump her or did she dump you?” She asked, eyes sparkling to life with mischievous glee.

_ She’s a brash little thing! _ Weaver smiled to himself. Of course she was, or she wouldn’t be here with him now. If she hadn’t kissed him, he would never have approached her. Maybe he needed to be a little brash now and then. He gave her an exaggerated gasp of disbelief, hand over his heart, eyes wide, and she giggled at him.

“Let me guess,” Lacey offered, rolling her eyes like she knew the drill. “Irreconcilable differences.”

“In Washington state, they call it ‘irretrievable breakdown of the marriage,’ and believe me, it was mutual.” He drained his mug and moved to sit next to her on the couch. “But enough about me.”

Lacey looked across at him, her eyes narrowed. “We’re not playing twenty-questions about me.”

“If we’re going to fuck, can’t I at least get to know you first?” He asked, giving her a wicked smile. 

Lacey sighed and sipped at her tea. Her knee was bouncing up and down. She did not want to talk about herself, well he wouldn’t push her too hard, but there were things that needed to be said. It was important, no matter how uncomfortable she felt.

“First. Is there anyone who is going to be worried that you aren’t home tonight?” He didn’t need any vigilante fathers busting down his door to shoot him in the balls, nor did he want to think about a father worrying for a daughter that hadn’t come home on a cold, snowy night. He might be retired, and about to kick his nonexistent morals to the curb, but his police officer instincts were still there beneath the surface.

“I texted him and told him I was staying at a friend’s for the night. But since he’s most likely already passed out drunk, it hardly matters.” Lacey tried and failed to look entirely unconcerned, the little furrow between her brows giving away her distress.

“What about protection?” he asked. “I probably should have thought of it earlier, but I can pop out to the chemist for condoms. There was one on the way…

“No. I have some in my bag,” Lacey interrupted, blushing a lovely shade of crimson, and he had the urge to take her right then, but he forced himself to stay still and continue the conversation. “I mean, I’ve had an IUD since I was twelve. My mother told me she didn’t want any more little mistakes running around.”

Weaver flinched. He reached out and tucked a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. For all her brash fearlessness, he could sense something fragile about her, and it made him want to protect her almost as much as he wanted to ravish her.  


“I have condoms in my bag, though. I carry them, you know, just in case  _ it _ ever happened.” She made little air quotes around the word “it” and pulled a face.

“You’ve never...?” He’d assumed she had, despite what Keith had said. A thrill of electric excitement ran straight from his brain to his cock, and he cursed himself for a pervert and an old fool for the hundredth time that night. Some better part of his mind warning him to get out now and leave her be, but the darker, stronger part found himself unable to stop the illicit flush of pleasure that he would be her first. He pushed back against the sly needle of shame, she was here because she wanted to be, and he could show her so much that would bring her joy. 

“Look, I’ve messed around plenty,” Lacey snapped defensively, her eyes flashing blue fire. “I know shit. Just because  _ Tab A _ never made it into  _ Slot B _ doesn’t mean I’m like some pure virgin flower.” 

“That’s not what I meant, sweetheart.” She met his eyes, her expression softening a little at the endearment. “It’s been a very long time for me, so if you're on birth control…”

“We don’t  _ need _ condoms.” She nodded, looking down into her mug and blushing prettily.

“Unless you’d feel more comfortable,” he offered, ducking his head to catch her eyes.

Lacey shook her head, a shy smile curling her lips. “Sorry. I thought you were going to change your mind. Find some of those nonexistent morals you keep on about.” 

Not bloody likely, not when she was looking good enough to eat and sitting right here on his couch. He stood, crossing to the hearth, and leaning against the mantel. He stared into the fire, trying to get a grip on his feelings.

“There’s nothing wrong with you being a virgin, you know,” he assured her. No, just everything wrong with what he was about to do. He should give her an out. “We don’t have to do this, Lacey.”

Lacey took a deep breath, “But I want to...I’m ready.”

He remained silent, though he turned his head to look at her. She looked like she wanted to say something more, her brow furrowed, her lower lip drawn between her teeth, as though weighing her next words carefully. Maybe she was nervous of turning him off, as if that were even a possibility at this moment. She exhaled through her mouth, steeling her nerves. 

“Before, I just wanted to know what all the fuss was about,” she said finally. A tiny stab of his signature self-doubt tightened his chest, and he was finding it difficult to breathe. Perhaps this wasn’t about him at all then, just her natural curiosity. Could he live with that? He took a long look at her pale perfection and decided he could, indeed. 

She shrugged, fidgeting with her empty mug. “Got real close a few times, but… I just never felt the spark, you know?” 

“Why now?” He asked, utterly lost to her beauty, her vulnerability.

He wanted to lay her down and show her everything, but the prickles of self-doubt burrowed into his brain like parasites. Why did this lovely girl even want him? Was he a monster to allow selfish lust to rule his actions? Would the collateral damage in this encounter be his price to pay or hers? 

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Why me?”

She looked up at him, her plush lips parted, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink. Her breathing had gone shallow and rapid, matching his racing heart, blood thrumming in his ears.

“Because.” Lacey held out her hand, beckoning him back to her. “The moment our eyes met, I felt it.”

Weaver crossed the space between them in two steps, going to his knees before her on the rug. He took the mug from her and set it aside, taking her face in his hands. Her eyes were black pits set in a slender ring of the palest cerulean, her pupils blown wide with arousal. Eyes that should be cold as a winter sky  burned instead with the heat of a fierce blue flame. He could dive in and lose himself in those eyes. In there would be no moral dilemmas or collateral damage, no deal-breaking age gaps or nagging self-doubt. In there would be only the gravitational attraction of two bodies, spinning out of control and giving in to the pleasures that could be found in the primal, universal urges of the flesh. 

“Felt what?” He whispered, the pit of his stomach dropping away as he awaited her answer.  _ Please. _    


“The spark I’d been waiting for,” she breathed, balling her fist and pressing it to her abdomen, “right here.”

His objections fell away, like scales from his eyes, and the only thing left in the fucking universe was them. He stood, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her and bent down to devour her mouth, his hands going everywhere. Hers tugged him close, reaching up to slip one of his buttons loose from its hole. Weaver’s hands roamed across her back, finding the clasp of her bra in the cutout of her blouse. He unhooked it, dragging the straps down her arms. Lacey pulled her arms through, sliding it out of her top and letting it fall to the floor.

She returned to his buttons, their mouths wet and busy while her fingers worked each one loose until she finally got his shirt open. She pushed the black cotton off his shoulders and onto the floor with her bra. Her hands were so warm against his skin, and he shivered as she ran them across his chest, finding his nipples and giving each a little tweak.

Weaver kissed down her throat, maneuvering them across the room until she was pushed up against the wall beside the bedroom door. Lacey gasped as he mouthed his way down between her breasts, her low cut top allowing him access to the inner slopes of her creamy mounds. He flicked his thumbs across her erect nipples poking through the fabric, and she moaned, tightening her fingers against his skin.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, circling and plucking her nipples through the fabric and leaning back to examine his handiwork. It was fucking beautiful. Her hardened nubs were visible beneath the blue silk, and it made his cock surge in his jeans. “Hmm? Do you like that?”

“Yes, oh yes,” Lacey moaned, “that feels bloody amazing.” 

Weaver bent down and closed his mouth around one nipple, suckling at her through the shirt. Her moans increased in pitch, and she writhed against him. He moved across to the other, suckling and nipping and leaving a dark, wet patch over each nipple. Lacey shivered and gripped his shoulders, her hips grinding against him.

“Weaver, please…” she begged. He lifted his head to meet her eyes, and they were filled with want, and a question she didn’t know how to ask. He was teasing her with the half-sensation, and he realized it must be maddening.

He couldn’t agree more. He needed to see her, taste her, to drink in her beauty and her ethereal loveliness. Weaver reached up to unbutton her blouse, one button at a time, his lips following to kiss every inch of skin as it was revealed. 

It was like unwrapping the most glorious Christmas present he had ever received, peeling away the layers of wrapping to expose the treasure beneath. Gods, he needed to be inside her, to fuck her until she screamed. He bit his cheek to get ahold of himself.  _ First things first.  _ He reached around to unzip her skirt, tugging it down over her hips and letting it fall to the floor. Her panties followed the skirt, and he took her trembling hand as she stepped out of them.   


“Oh, Lacey.” Weaver let his eyes roam her flawless curves as she was slowly revealed to him, the soft roundness of her breasts with their small, pink nipples, already pebbled and erect from his attention; the firm globes of her buttocks, smooth and creamy; and the supple pillars of her generous thighs with the glistening, dusky-pink cleft of her sex at the apex.

Her body turned his blood to fire, making his pulse race and his breath quicken. Not to mention what it did to his cock. She was tiny, but long-limbed and lithe, lightly muscled under the pristine expanse of her porcelain skin, a dancer’s body - strong and sure. She stood there in those platform heels, on tiptoe like the ballerina in a child’s music box and his already rigid cock surged at the thought of diving between the twin columns of her milky thighs and feasting on her sweet sex. His mouth was already watering. 

She was watching him warily when his eyes returned to her face, those clear, blue orbs wide, wondering what he saw. “You’re so beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to each of her nipples, moving back and forth, sucking and scraping and plucking with his lips, and listening to her soft moans as he did so, his hands gripping her buttocks. 

Lacey clutched at the sides of his head. “Do you think so?” she asked quietly. For all her bravado, she was so unsure, and it made her all the more dear.

“Breathtaking,” Weaver whispered, toeing off his shoes and unbuckling his belt. Lacey stopped his hands, and unbuttoned his jeans, slipping them down over his hips, waiting while he stepped out of them, and kissing down his chest and belly before crouching in front of him. Taking his hard cock in hand, she looked up at him, licking her lips, preparing to take him in her sweet mouth. It made his heart ache that she thought he would expect her to pleasure him, and he reached down to cup her cheek, lifting her up. 

“I was going to…” 

Weaver interrupted her surprised declaration with a desperate kiss. It wasn’t that his body didn’t respond to the thought of her perfect lips wrapped around his shaft, because of course it fucking did. No, this night was about her, and he wanted her to know it beyond any doubt.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, and finding the pins that held it in place, released it to cascade over her shoulders in shining waves, combing his fingers through to spread it across her back as they kissed. His heart thumped against his ribcage at the softness of it. She made herself seem so hard and strong, her heavy makeup and sexy clothes projecting the image she wanted the world to see, and it reminded him of the sweet vulnerability he’d glimpsed beneath all that. He would be the one to teach her what she should expect from a lover. He was going to show her what it meant to be worshipped like a woman’s body was made to be, and he couldn’t fucking wait.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Lacey loses her virginity to sexy (former) Detective Weaver. This chapter is all smut, kids, with feels... I hope you all enjoy.

Weaver broke their messy kiss, tugging her lower lip between his teeth. Lacey was taken aback that he had refused her blatant offer of a blowjob. Confusion must have been written on her face, because Weaver smiled at her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“Get on the bed.” Lacey crawled up on the bed, flopping back among the pillows while he watched with hungry eyes.

“But…are you sure?” She had never known a guy to refuse a blowjob or a handjob or any job that involved her paying attention to their favorite piece of equipment.

“Oh, I want you to, and there will be time for everything, Lacey, but right now, there is something else I want to do.” The bed dipped as he knelt at the end, and she took a moment to study his body. He was small, but nicely proportioned, wiry muscles under lightly tanned skin, not the pasty white she had expected from a Seattleite. The hard planes of his chest were smooth with only a light sprinkling of tawny hairs, his nipples small and dark brown. There was darker hair on his belly, not as thick or dark as she’d seen on other men, but she liked it - so much smooth, tan skin to run her tongue and fingers over. Her gaze followed the sparse trail of dark hair down over his flat stomach to where the hair thickened, and his cock stood proud and erect, the tip already glistening with a bead of clear fluid.

He caught her looking, and the corner of his mouth drew up. _Fuck, he was so sexy._ She thought it probably shouldn’t be legal to be that cute and sexy at the same time.

“See something you like?” He teased.

“Hell, yes.” Lacey grinned and nodded, clicking her tongue against her teeth. She parted her legs slightly so he could crawl up on hands and knees to lie between them, his rigid cock pressing against her thigh. It was more exposed than she’d ever been, and it made her stomach flutter with anticipation and a little anxiety. Would he simply push into her and fuck her? Would it hurt? Was there something she should do? Say? She wiped damp palms against the sheets.

Weaver lay propped on one elbow, and he paused a moment to search her eyes, the fingers of his other hand stroking her cheek. She familiarized herself with the lines of his face. Deep, angular furrows between his brows betrayed a life of care and hardship, though crow’s feet wrinkled the outer corners of his eyes, highlighting the fact that whatever his life had been, here was a man who smiled often. His eyes were like twin pools of the dark Scotch whisky he favored, warm brown with flecks of gold and amber, his pupils blown wide with lust for her. _Beautiful._

His breathing was shallow as he watched her take in his features. Was he as nervous as she? He had said he hadn’t been with anyone in years. Lacey bit back an uncharacteristic giggle, feeling the hard length of him spreading cool, slick fluid on her inner thigh. Well, at least everything in that department seemed to still be in working order.

He cupped her cheek, his brown eyes serious, and a little shiver ran through her. “If you want to stop at any time, you tell me, alright?”

She nodded. Ten thousand butterflies had suddenly decided to take up line dancing in her stomach, and she worried they might fly out of her mouth if she opened it. She bit at her bottom lip to stifle nervous laughter, and it must have caught his attention because his eyes lit up as they flickered down to her lips and then back to her eyes.

“I mean it,” he said. “If I’m doing something you don’t like, or it doesn’t feel good, tell me. If there’s something you want me to do, tell me. Tonight’s about your pleasure.”

“Don’t you want to enjoy it, too?” she asked, running her fingers through his hair. It was soft and silky beneath her fingertips.

He let out a low chuckle, his belly quaking against hers, and she felt her cheeks flush. “Believe me, Lacey, I’m gonna enjoy this way more than I have any right to. Don’t you worry about that.” He stroked his thumb across her lower lip, still watching her eyes, but there was a lightness in his now. His mouth turned up in that lopsided little grin that made her stomach tighten. “A woman’s pleasure is a bit less straightforward, though I think we’ve well proven that we know how to find yours. Ready to find it again?” She nodded vigorously, tugging him towards her. _Yes, yes, yes! More than ready._

She watched him wet his lips with a flash of his tongue before diving in to capture hers. Lacey gasped, and he groaned into her mouth as her lips parted. If she thought he had devoured her before, she had no idea. Weaver slid his tongue into her mouth and explored every part he could conceivably reach. His hands wandered down to stroke and pluck at her breasts, over her hips, and along her thighs while his tongue slipped and probed and stroked her mouth until their lips were wet and messy.

He sucked at her tongue when she slipped hers out to dance with his, a gentle suckling that made her juices flow. Weaver scraped his teeth along her chin as he began to mouth down her neck. Lacey ran her hands across his back, investigating the feel of his smooth, hot skin beneath her fingers.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” she asked, a little breathless already.

His teeth were plucking at the spot he had marked her earlier, and she felt him smile against her neck. Weaver sucked the skin between his lips and drew it between his teeth, nipping it and then licking it gently.

“Oh, I think you’ll know when I get there.”

Weaver’s mouth trailed down, kissing along her collarbone and down into the soft valley between her breasts. He shifted so he could cup both breasts with his hands, running his thumbs over her nipples to make them pebbled and stiff. Lacey keened when he lowered his lips to suck in as much of her small breast as he could fit inside his hot, wet mouth. He rolled his tongue, squeezing with his fingers and suckling hard. Lacey bucked up into him, digging her fingers into his shoulder blades. It was exquisite torture as he released her with a wet _pop_ and then pinched the taut nub between his teeth, his fingers plucking at the other.

“Oh, shit, oh fuck,” Lacey babbled as he switched to the other side, squeezing and sucking and plucking and scraping. She arched up into his mouth as he suckled, throwing her leg over his hip and pressing into him. He groaned and ground his cock hard into her thigh. “Oh, Weaver, oh God, please.”

He released her breast, chuckling, and gave her a dark grin, shaking his head as he continued to roll her nipples between finger and thumb. The sensation went straight to her core, as though a fine length of wire connected her taut nipples directly to her clit, and with every pinch and pluck electricity coursed along its path, bursting in little pulses _inside_ her and making her see stars. Her insides were already coiling with tension, building toward that desperate peak.

“That?” She breathed.

“Almost there,” he murmured, his tongue snaking out to lick beneath each breast and then zig-zag down her belly, pausing to dip into her navel. Lacey gasped and clutched at him as her belly fluttered and tightened beneath his tongue. He moved further down, placing a moist kiss to each hip bone, and she could barely breathe. _He was going to eat her out!_

Lacey stilled, and Weaver slid his tongue along the crease of each thigh. He moved her knees apart to open her to his gaze, and she tensed, heart thudding, suddenly shy. She didn’t know if she could do this. He caressed her, dragging his nails gently along her outer thighs, whispering, “It’s ok, Lacey, let me look at you.”

He pressed a kiss to the inside of each knee and then up the inside of each thigh as she let him open her up. She closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath, her fists balled in the sheets. “That’s it, Lacey, just relax, and let me do this for you.” He mouthed higher. “That’s it, so beautiful. I’m gonna taste you, is that ok?”

Lacey was still trying to keep the butterflies on the inside, and for a moment she simply lay there, waiting. Her heart was a frantic bird trying to beat itself out from behind her ribs. When he made no move, she opened her eyes and looked down at him. He was gazing up at her, poised above her sex with an expression of pure lust etched in his features. He wanted to eat her alive, but he wouldn’t until she said so. She nodded and watched as a sly smile spread across his face. He kept his eyes locked on hers as he dipped his head and pressed the first, open-mouthed kiss to her mound. He nibbled gently at the flesh there with his lips and light scrapes of his teeth before moving down.

She held her breath as he slipped his tongue between her folds and made a slow, deliberate circle around her clit. It was the most excruciatingly pleasurable sensation she had ever experienced, his hot tongue bathing her soft flesh. Lacey fell back among the pillows, throwing her head back and spreading herself as wide as she could while Weaver ate her like a starving man let loose on a Sunday afternoon potluck.

He chuckled, and she regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

“You taste so fucking good, Lacey.” Weaver ran the flat of his tongue through her, swirling around her entrance and up across her clit. “I could eat you all fucking night.” He slipped his tongue inside, stiff and hot, thrusting and slurping, and down further to slide between her cheeks, teasing and tickling.

She let her head fall back again with a guttural moan, and Weaver set to with a will. She realized he was following the noises she made, mapping out her most sensitive places, but she couldn’t feel shame or embarrassment, not with the sounds _he_ was making. Lacey let herself go, lost to the sensations that he was causing in her, she moaned and panted and cried out with abandon, her toes curling in her shoes.

Weaver continued to murmur while he licked and sucked at her clit, and Lacey could barely comprehend his words. “Your sweet, little cunt is heaven, Lacey.” She keened when he slipped a finger into her, the vibrations of his words humming against her sensitive nub. _Nirvana. Valhalla. Elysium. Fuck!_ Each one sparking through her like an electric shock. She didn’t know if she was falling or flying or dying of ecstasy when he finally closed his lips around her clit and sucked hard, working his tongue against her in her own rhythm, his finger sliding in and out, squelching in her slick wetness. When he added a second, it was more than she could bear.

Lacey gripped the sides of her own head with clawed fingers and his with her thighs, her heels pressing into his back. Her walls clamped down hard on his thrusting fingers, and she came with a loud moaning cry, every muscle in her body shaking with the force of it.

Weaver sucked and licked her gently through shocks and aftershocks, drinking down her rapture, and thrusting his tongue inside to gather every drop. She felt like she could just keep coming and coming as long as his thumb kept up that perfect rhythm. He slowed gradually, and Lacey finally collapsed into the sheets, a boneless, liquid bliss stealing over her entire being.

Weaver nudged her mound with his nose, giving the little pad of flesh a playful bite. He crawled up her body, trailing his tongue back up her belly, around her navel, licking up the slight sheen of salt and sweat between her breasts, and nipping bits of skin between his teeth. He kissed up her neck and under her chin and she could smell her own arousal on his skin and hair.

He settled back between her thighs, his rigid length pressed against her core, and she could have laughed when he finally raised his head to look at her. If she hadn’t been so loose-limbed and languid from her climax. Weaver was a mess, his hair mussed, his face and lips glistening with her fluids, but he had a smug grin on his face that made her want to bite him hard enough to hurt, just a little. He gave her a lopsided grin, her stomach tightening in spite of her gratified state. He was so fucking adorable and sexy, and she couldn’t wait to feel his thickness sliding up inside her.

“Now, _that’s_ what I wanted to show you,” Weaver smirked, eyebrows waggling. “And I’d be more than happy to show you again if you like. I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I could eat you all night.” He ran one finger down the side of her face to curl beneath her chin. “We could give it a go,” he offered.

Lacey snorted and shook her head. “I’m pretty sure I would not survive that right now. I already feel like my brains have fallen out on the pillows,” she lamented, sliding her fingers through his hair.

Weaver chuckled and tweaked a nipple, earning a breathy yelp. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t really need them for this next part,” he quipped, and Lacey tried and mostly failed to keep a straight face, running her fingernails down his back and over his buttocks, giving them a firm squeeze.

“Good, then what the bloody hell are you waiting for? An invitation from the Queen? Wipe that smug look off your face and fuck me,” Lacey ordered as sternly as she could muster, pressing her lips together to contain her snicker, and grinding herself against his cock. Weaver’s eyebrows shot up for a split second, mirth dancing in his eyes, before he growled and bent his head to capture her lips hungrily, his cock sliding easily through her slick, wet flesh. She tasted the salty tang of her own juices in his mouth, and it was strange and somehow erotic, and she found herself chasing it with her tongue, all teasing forgotten.

He rocked back on his heels, scooting backward off the bed, and running his fingertips feather-light down the length of one leg, to the little blue strap at her ankle. Unbuckling first one and then the other, he tossed the shoes over the side of the bed and onto the wood floor with a clatter. He reversed the process, sliding his hands up her calves and over her knees, and crawling back up to take his place between her thighs.

Weaver reached between them to take himself in hand, and Lacey arched up into him as he ran the soft, smooth head of his cock through her folds, crying out when he flicked it back and forth across her clit. He rubbed in languid circles around her already sensitive nub, spreading his slick fluid and her own wetness, and it felt so...so...she couldn’t even find the thoughts for how it felt to have him so bloody close, and she was going to go mad if she couldn’t feel him inside her right fucking now.

He was breathing rapidly, lips parted, but Weaver paused to search her face, meeting her eyes. He sought her permission, and somewhere between nervous anxiety and eager anticipation, Lacey couldn’t quite remember how to form words. There were tears of frustration stinging her eyes. She was nothing but raw nerve endings and a visceral want so deep in her belly she thought she was truly going crazy. Lacey gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin, and she lifted her knees to press her heels into his thighs, begging him to be inside her. Raising her hips to bring herself in line with where she wanted him, _needed_ him, before she lost her bloody mind.

She willed him to understand her desperation.

He did, and Lacey nearly shouted with joy when he brought himself to rest at her entrance. Weaver pressed in slowly, until his blunt, thick head was fully inside her. It was _incredible._ He pushed forward like the tide, wave after wave until every second was another swell of ecstasy. She was slowly being filled, stretching around him, her body relaxing to welcome his thickness, and then he was _in_ her, flush against her mound, buried to the hilt, his warm belly firm against hers. It was euphoric. Exultant. Like she was finally initiated into some magical, universal truth: fucking was the fucking bomb.

“Fuck! You’re so tight. Feels so good,” he groaned through gritted teeth, braced up on his hands, gasping for air, his body trembling. “Lacey, you okay? I gotta move… I’m gonna fuck you, okay?”

Lacey nodded wordlessly, letting out a whoosh of breath, rubbing her heels against his buttocks, and Weaver gave her a toothy, crooked smile, jaw clenched. He ground his hips in a low circle, watching her with hooded eyes as she cried out, arching up into him, clutching her thighs around his, her walls flexing and grasping around the hard length of him buried deep.

He moved. Long, slow thrusts at first, but once her body opened to him, Lacey urged him on, and they became rougher and more frantic until he was pounding into her hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs with each stroke. Her body hummed with the torrent of desire surging through her veins, the sliding of skin against skin, his lips and teeth tracing patterns of fire on her throat.

Time stretched out and compressed all at once, and she was in that space where a second could be an hour or an hour only a second. Nothing left in the world but the sultry heat of the room and the sounds of their bodies moving together, his ragged breath, and her own cries loud in her ears. Moans of ecstasy, of bliss, tearing themselves from her lips. The springs of the old brass bed creaking and groaning in time with Weaver’s demanding thrusts, and the rhythmic thudding of the headboard against the wall.

Weaver put his hands behind her knees, pushing them toward her chest, angling her hips so he could drive deeper until she was on the knife edge between pleasure and pain. Lacey dug in, her nails raking across his shoulders to urge him on and, fuck, it felt like magic. The coiling tension winding like a spring in her belly. Weaver working to hit that sweet spot inside her over and over again until the slip and slide of their sweat-slicked skin built a pressure inside her that suddenly burst like steam from a kettle when he bent his head and tugged a taut nipple between his teeth. Lacey lost track of how many times she shouted his name, how many obscenities she screamed as she came, gasping and writhing beneath him.

“Fuck, Lacey,” he ground out, arms quivering to stay above her. “Fuck, I’m gonna come. Gonna come in your sweet, little cunt.” He snapped his hips in several rough, erratic thrusts, his body grinding against her, his cock pulsing, spilling his seed deep inside her. Weaver closed his eyes, his mouth open and his face slack, panting and trembling as he poured himself into her. She felt her walls pulling at him, milking every drop of his hot come, and he twitched and moaned quietly in his last desperate throes before collapsing on top of her, and burying his face in the side of her neck with a long, shuddering groan.

They both lay still, his body a solid, welcome weight, grounding her and pulling her back to earth. They lay together, a tangled pile of limbs, blood pounding, hearts thumping, fighting to drag air into their lungs. She felt him shrink, slipping out of her with a warm rush of fluid, and a shiver went through her. It was done, and she choked back a quiet sob as the moment seared itself into her very bones.

Weaver groaned into her shoulder, biting down into soft flesh with a growl before flopping to the side and throwing an arm across his face. Lacey rolled into his side and he wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her on top of his chest. His fingers walking down her spine and sweeping back up to tease at the nape of her neck.

“Now it’s my brains that have dribbled out on the pillows, I think,” he managed. “Got a teaspoon?”

“Hmmph. Then how are you talking?” Lacey mumbled into his chest, trying to shake off the sense that something tectonic had shifted inside her. _Get a grip, Lace. Keep it cool. Don’t make a fool of yourself like a schoolgirl with a dopey crush._

They’d had sex. Mind-blowing, world-rocked, socks-knocked-off sex. But she tried to remind herself it was probably just a one-time thing anyway, there was no need to get emotional over it. What could they really have in common? It wasn’t like he was gonna fall in love with her or anything.

“Was it everything you hoped for?” Weaver asked, eyebrows waggling. He reached over and tucked a curl back behind her ear with one of those smirks that made her want to sink her teeth into him.

“You’re a fucking E-ticket ride, Weaver.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess it _is_ like riding a bicycle,” he mused, his smile crinkling the corners of eyes that sparkled with self-satisfaction. _Smug bastard._ “You’re pretty fantastic yourself,” he whispered into the top of her head.

She traced patterns on his smooth skin with her fingertips, listening to his heart thumping in his chest, and wondering what space, if any there might be in there for her. _Don’t be a sap, Lace. Take it for what it was, a fantastic fuck and a perfect initiation into the inner sanctum. Maybe you’ll even get another ride before this is over._ Circling his nipples until they pebbled, she leaned down to pinch one between her teeth as he’d done to her. He let out a shaky laugh.

“It might take me few more minutes to recover, sweetheart. Then fasten your seatbelt and hold on tight.” She felt him smile into the top of her head, rubbing a foot against her calf, and twisting his fingers in the hair at the base of her neck.

“Will I need to stay seated at all times?”

“Definitely.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last time, Lacey lost her virginity, and she and Weaver are maybe each a little smitten with each other. Though they are each a little afraid to admit that to themselves, never mind each other. That leads to misunderstandings and hurt words. Sooo, maybe this chapter gets a little angsty. Sorry!

Weaver woke with a start, his heart beating wildly, skin tingling, cold fear running through his veins. An unfamiliar touch and every instinct from decades on the force ramped into overdrive, but it was only her soft lips on his belly, working their way lower. Lower. _Lacey._ He pushed his head back into the pillows and let her explore. Her tongue swept across his trembling stomach, swirling around his navel and continuing down, down to where she would most certainly make him hers. Her nose and lips brushed the sensitive hairs at his groin, her breath ghosting over him, and he sucked in a ragged groan, quivering with the effort of lying still. _Fuck._

Her fingertips dragged up his inner thighs, and he shivered, his cock surging against his belly, already half-hard in eager anticipation of her touch. Lacey pressed a soft, wet kiss to each hip-bone, as he had done to her, down to the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, to each of his balls, the other thigh and back up his belly just to the side of his twitching cock. A bead of clear fluid dripped from the tip onto his stomach, and Lacey made a little noise of want in the back of her throat.

Weaver held his breath as she kissed her way toward the little puddle, her tongue flashing out to capture it as she glanced up to meet his eyes. His belly flipped at the darkness of hers, burning with desire, her lips parted and panting, her hair a delightful tangle from their earlier pursuits. _Gods, she’s so beautiful. Smart. Funny. Challenging. You could fall hard for this girl, Weaver._ Her fingers wrapped around him, moving velvet-soft skin over the rock-hard core, and he gripped the sheets with his fists. _Don’t be a sentimental fool. She’s a third of your age. What could she possibly have in common with you? Want from you? Aside from the obvious, that is._ Lacey closed her eyes and drew her tongue up the length of his shaft, and he let out a long, shuddering groan. _Just enjoy the moment. That’s what the kids these days do, right? Sex isn’t the big, emotional commitment it was back in your day. Just keep it cool, old man._

His thoughts scattered, his mind suddenly empty of everything except the searing heat of her lips wrapping around the head of his cock, sliding down slowly, encompassing his rigid length in her soft, warm, wet mouth. Weaver bit the inside of his lip, straining to not buck his hips up into her. He felt her tongue, rough along the underside, swirling up over the head, teasing at the slit and making him moan. Her hand followed, squeezing, pulling at him as firmly as he would pull at himself. She knew exactly what she was doing, and he certainly wasn’t going to last long if she kept that up.

She sucked him in long strokes, taking him to the base, her throat opening to swallow his whole length, and then back to the tip again. The firm pressure of her hand working him, driving him out of his bloody mind. Her other hand cupped his balls, stroking with her thumb through the soft folds, and he watched her eyes flutter closed. Dark lashes, thick against rosy, flushed cheeks. Weaver lifted one hand, tentative, reaching out to touch her hair, and her eyes flickered open. He slid from her mouth, and the sight made the muscles in his stomach twinge, a thrill of desire buzzing out through the tips of his fingers and toes. She gave him a sultry smile, her eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“Yeah, put your hands in my hair. Give it a pull...go on. Let yourself go,” Lacey whispered, bending down to suck one of his balls into her sweet mouth. She gave the other the same toe-curling attention before releasing it, watching him all the while.

“Fuck, Lacey, that feels incredible.” His fingers tangled in her curls, giving her a little yank, and she gasped in approval. Lacey nodded as she ran her lips along the underside and took him deep in one swift movement.

“Fuck!” He groaned. His fingers digging into her scalp, as she hummed and moaned around him. The vibrations rippled down his cock and into the very center of his consciousness, lifting his hips off the bed. He bucked and writhed, her mouth working and her hand chasing. It was fucking bliss, and he could feel the pressure building in his balls, the beautiful tension coiling in his belly until he was ready to burst. He was quaking beneath her, holding back the tide of rapture that was about to crash over him.

“I’m gonna come, Lacey, can’t stop it,” he panted, his breath coming in broken gasps. Weaver tried to urge her off so he could finish, but she shoved his hands away, meeting his eyes with her own challenging gaze. She was going to take him in her mouth, and the thought of spilling himself on the back of her tongue sent him soaring over the edge.

Lacey sucked and squeezed, hollowing her cheeks, and milking every last drop from him as he groaned and trembled, swallowing him down with moans of pleasure. Weaver marveled at her, his pulse throbbing, chest heaving, and he dragged her up to ravage her with kisses. She met him with ardent fervor, sliding her fingers through his hair, tugging and scratching, her tongue pushing and sliding against his. He could taste himself in her mouth, and it made him frantic and frenzied, biting and sucking and capturing her moans and swallowing them down in snarling, animal triumph.

His heart skipped, breath catching in his chest, when she pulled back, gasping for air. Her chestnut hair was a hopeless tangle about her delicate features, her eyes wild, pale moons of precious aquamarine, her lips plump and red and bruised from worshipping his cock and the pressure of his mouth. They turned up into a coy smile that made his heart thump. She was goddess and innocent, knowing and pure, and he felt himself twisting as he fell, hoping against hope to somehow land on his feet.

Weaver rolled them, pressing Lacey back to the pillows, kissing and licking and mouthing his way down to where he would make her scream again and again. He used fingers and tongue, teasing and thrusting, worshipping and savoring every exquisite inch. He would never drink his fill of her, and he spent glorious hours proving that with his face buried between her thighs, drowning in her sweet nectar.

When she finally cast him out of heaven with her breathless pleas for mercy, she took pity on him and his rigid, aching cock, rolling him until she sat astride. The noise she made as she lowered herself onto him made his blood roar. It was the edge of madness, how perfect she felt around him, her slick wetness firm against his groin, surrounding him, enfolding him, holding him tight.

Weaver guided her to lean back, propping herself on splayed palms, pushing forward her perfect breasts, with their taut, pink peaks. Lacey ground down, rotating her hips against his groin and he growled, sliding his hand down between her breasts and over her hollowed belly, his thumb flickering over her clit. They were both covered in a sheen of perspiration, their bodies heated with effort, and he wanted to reach up and lick the salty sweat from between her breasts. Lacey moaned his name, his first name, and he thought his head might explode along with his cock. _Fuck, I am in so much trouble._

He circled her tiny waist with his hands, pushing her up, his cock nearly slipping from her body. Weaver gazed down to watch where they joined. His glistening length sliding from her slick, velvet depths, rumbling in his chest as he tugged her back down, driving inside and pushing deep. This wasn’t the frantic thrusting and wild tussle of their earlier coupling. This was the grinding, hypnotic pleasure of two slick bodies sliding and rocking and swaying together until moving and breathing and hearts beating were all that was left of the world.

When they finally slept, all tangled limbs and damp, twisted bedclothes, it was a fitful sleep, full of half-remembered dreams and vague disquiet. He woke, and lay for a long while, staring at the snow-covered branches, pale blue in the moonlight as they scratched the rime-encrusted window panes. He built the fires back up in both the stove and the hearth to keep the place warm. When he lay back on the bed, Lacey didn’t even stir.

Weaver gave himself a little pat on the back for that one, a tad smug that he’d managed to wear her out so thoroughly and in such a pleasant fashion. Maybe he still had something to offer such a woman as she after all? Her sheer energy was a bit overwhelming, and it only reminded him of her youth, sending a surge of guilt and doubt raging through him. Had he been a fool for touching her? For giving in to his own selfish desires?

It was hard to feel regret, though, as he watched her sleep, the slow, even tempo of her breath, lips slightly parted. Lacey slept on her side, face cradled on the back of her hand, her features sweetly relaxed in sleep. The room was warm from the stove, and Lacey slept uncovered.

Weaver ran his eyes over her lithe form, the gentle curve of her breast beneath her arm, the dip and hollow of her slender waist rising to the generous swell of her hips. The smooth sweep of her flawless buttocks, gleaming pale lavender in the moonlight and sloping down to the darkened cleft of heaven between, the slim taper of her thighs to shapely calves and delicate feet. Her toenails were painted the same midnight blue as her fingernails.

_So perfect. So, so lovely..._

He wondered again what she saw when she looked at him.

 

* * *

 

Lacey stirred, rolling over to find the sheets beside her cool, the bed empty. Wherever Weaver had gone to, it had been some time. She swept aside the little needle of disappointment that he hadn’t stayed beside her, that she didn’t wake up in his arms. He wasn’t there, ready to kiss her and fuck her senseless as he had the night before. Maybe she could convince him to come back to bed for another breathless round before reality intruded and they were forced figure out what exactly this whole thing was. If anything.

Lacey threw off the sheets and climbed out of bed, grabbing his discarded shirt from the floor and slipping it on. Woodsmoke tickled her nose, both the stove and the hearth crackling and burning merrily. She went through to the main room, but there was no sign of Weaver, though the kettle was on the stove and there was the strong smell of coffee from the small pot gurgling on the counter.

She peered through the forest of frost-ferns on the window to the back porch, and he was there, head bowed over the steaming mug pressed between his hands. He was naked from the waist up and barefoot, clad only in his jeans, the morning sun tracing patterns of light and shadow across his bare back. Lacey shivered, the desire to run her hands over his smooth, tanned skin almost overwhelming. Gods, but she wanted him to wrap her back up in his arms and kiss her into sweet oblivion.

The morning air was a frigid slap in the face when she opened the door, poking her head out. “Hey.” 

“Hey.” He gave her a little nod and a crooked half-smile.

Lacey shivered. “Ooooh, how can you sit out here? Aren’t you freezing your balls off?” She glanced around at the frozen pond, the glistening crust of fresh snow coating trees and rocks. The wan winter light glimmered off daggers of ice clinging to the edges of the roof, just beginning to drip, and the sharp, earthy scent of the world waking from rimy repose stung her nostrils.

He shrugged and shook his head. “I dunno, sometimes the cold air really gets the blood pumping. Good for thinking, I guess.”

“Well, your lips are turning blue, and I’m not stepping foot out there like this. So, why don’t you come in from the cold, and I’ll think of something fun to warm you up.” Lacey shot him a cheeky grin and wiggled her hips suggestively.

A cold stab of worry settled at the back of her mind when he finally met her eyes. His were flat, no telltale crinkles at the corners, no sparkle of mischief. The smile on his lips was remote, cool, no trace of the canary-eating smirks he’d given her last night. No smug, self-satisfied grin. He didn’t hold her gaze, and she felt her stomach sink, a dense ball of lead settling in, right in the pit.

Weaver shook himself out of whatever trance he was in and stood, barely touching her as he slipped past into the cabin. She pushed the door closed, trying to shut out the frost that had descended inside as much as the gelid winter outside. It wasn’t working, there was a heavy, awkward tension building between them, and Lacey had no clue how to break it.

“I was going to make you breakfast,” Weaver said in his soft burr, but she could hear the false note of cheeriness that was too brittle, too forced. He was rummaging in the fridge, his back to her, pulling out orange juice and a mostly empty carton of eggs. She wanted to slip her hands down into those sexy jeans and find out if he was commando, but the nagging doubt of her welcome held her back. “I’m not sure what’s here, but I’m sure I can rustle something up.”

“We could go to Granny’s for pancakes,” she offered, trying to lighten the mood. “I’ll buy. I have all that pool-hustling money burning a hole in my pocket.”

“Lacey, I’m not sure that’s a great idea.” There was resignation in his tone. He still had his back turned, his hands resting flat on the counter, head down. Lacey could feel him, drawing himself away, and she wanted to reach for him, but a cold hand had reached inside her chest and was squeezing her heart. _He doesn’t want you anymore._ She gripped the hem of the shirt instead, fidgeting fingers skimming along the rolled edge, counting the stitches in her head. She chewed her lip, worrying a sore spot inside.

“So, what? You’re ashamed of me?” She asked, trying not to let her voice rise and crack. She could smell him on the shirt she was wearing, spicy and earthy and utterly arousing. She bit at the little ridge forming on the inside of her lip until it hurt. “You know the truth.”

“I’m not ashamed of you.” He turned to look at her, and she could see the battle in his eyes. It was the same one she’d seen last night and banished with her brazen talk and bold kisses. “But most people are assholes, Lacey. They aren’t going to just let it slide that I’m fifty-one and you’re seventeen and we’re having sex.”

“It’s not like there’s a big sign over our heads saying we just fucked.” She abhorred the wheedling tone in her own voice, but she couldn’t seem to control it. She folded her arms across her chest, trying to hold everything together, inside, but it just felt petulant. _He’s had what he wanted. What else do you have to offer, now that he’s tasted your charms? I mean that’s all you’re really good for anyway, right?_

“Right, so, we just show up arm-in-arm and order pancakes for breakfast like total strangers do.” He spread his hands, eyebrows up, looking at her as though she’d sprouted another head. The thin winter sunlight glinted off the silver bracelet around his wrist, and she thought of how it had tickled the insides of her thighs. Cool metal skimming over heated skin. She bit down again and tasted blood. _Fuck._

“It’s a long way from total strangers to fucking.” Lacey could hear the childish pout in her voice, but she was rolling downhill on skates with no brakes. There was jagged concrete at the bottom, and nothing she could do to regain control.

He snorted and gave her a pointed look. Tossing his head and showing his teeth. “How long, exactly? Two hours?”

The Scottish accent she had found so alluring the night before was suddenly so irritating she wanted to smack the stupid, mocking grin off his face. _Gods, but you can be a real arsehole. I thought you liked me. I thought you respected me. I was a bloody fool for you, wasn’t I?_

“Nice one, Weaver.” She was racing toward the bottom of the hill now, eyes closed, wind whistling in her ears. Or was that her pulse? “Way to make a girl feel like a bloody whore.”

Weaver rolled his eyes, and that did nothing to curb the pressure and the fury building inside her. “That wasn’t my point, Lacey. It took both of us to make last night happen. If that’s what you are, then so am I.” He was trying to cajole her, and it wasn’t going to work.

“I don’t think any less of you for what we did,” he insisted, but she wanted none of it.

“Could you?” She asked quietly. “Think any less of me?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, and the gesture mocked her more than anything else he’d said or done. The ball of lead in her stomach grew heavier and hotter until she could feel her blood percolating just under her skin. He was disappointed in her, wasn’t he? _Just like you disappoint everyone, Lacey. Here it comes..._

“Don’t be like this, please. I thought you were more mature than thinking we can just go flaunting this around town without consequences. Without people having something to say. Are you prepared for that?” He was leaning against the counter, feet crossed at the ankle. How could he be so casual when she felt like something more profound than just a night of mind-blowing sex was on the line? _Because it was casual...for him. Don’t let him see you got a bunch of feelings over it. Don’t let him get the upper hand._

He crossed his arms over his chest, gesturing toward her with the turn of a hand, an open palm, and a pleading expression on his face. “Shouldn’t we talk about what we’re doing before we show up together for breakfast at Granny’s?” _Perfect._

“It was just sex, for fuck’s sake! Right?” Lacey looked away from him, biting at her chipped nail. Peeling way the lacquer with her teeth, and trying to stop herself from thinking too hard about what his response was going to be.

“Right.” _Right._ His voice was flat. She heard his hands drop, slapping dully against his thighs.

She hit that ragged patch of pavement going full-speed, arse over teakettle until she lay there, blinking stupidly at the sky and wondering what the fuck just happened. _Good job, Lace. At least you got your answer._

“Then what’s the bloody difference what people think or say?” Her skin was drawn too tight, the light brush of fabric making every nerve ending scream, and she wanted to claw her way out of the shirt she was wearing. His shirt. Every breath wanted to become a sob, but she held her ground.

“Look, I’m thinking about your reputation, Lacey, not mine,” he implored, tapping the counter lightly with an open hand.

Lacey rounded on him, and he pushed away from the counter, watching her warily, eyes wide and dark, his brow furrowed. She stomped over to him, squaring her shoulders and sticking out her chin, glaring at him, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. Her fingernails bit crescent-shaped holes in her own palms. How dare he make this about her!

“Fuck you, Callum. That’s a lie.” She curled her lip and stuck a finger in his chest. “You’re a coward. You just don’t want to hear what people will have to say.”

“You’re acting like a child, Lacey.” Weaver threw his arms wide, shaking his head. The muscle in his cheek twitched, his jaw clenching. His eyes were nearly black with the storm brewing inside.

Lacey’s blood ran cold. She withdrew her hand, but she didn’t lower her gaze. _Oh._

“A child?” She was proud of the clipped, measured tone of her voice. The seething ball of lead in her stomach had turned to ice, freezing her from the inside out. “Were you thinking of me as a child last night when your fingers were inside me?”

Weaver huffed, his eyes widening in surprise, but still dark and dangerous. His lip curled, teeth gleaming. “You were hanging around in a bar, acting like an adult. Now you’re just being manipulative.”

“Yeah, and you knew exactly how old I was when you decided to take me home and fuck me.”

He looked at her like she had struck him, after all.

Lacey turned away, pacing the length of the room. This room that was suddenly too small. Too hot. Too _everything_. She was tempted to rush out into the snow and gulp down great lungfuls of cold, clean air.

“That’s not fair,” he said quietly.

“You think life is fair? I’m fucking seventeen and I know life isn’t fair. Who’s being mature now?”

She swung around to face him, but he turned away, not speaking. He stared down at his hands gripped on the back of a chair, silver rings winking at her in the streaming sunlight. Mocking her.                                                                                               

“Just take me back to town.”

“What about breakfast?” He asked. She watched his back rise and fall.

“Fuck breakfast. None of this matters anyway, it’s not like we’re going to start dating or anything. One and done, right?” She sounded like a spoiled brat, but she didn’t care.

“Lacey…I never said that.” He dropped his head, deflating.

“You don’t fucking have to, Weaver. It’s implied in the no breakfast at Granny’s - no being seen together rule. Or were we just planning to carry on a secret affair where we never speak to each other in public, but you take me home and fuck me two, maybe three nights a week?”

He turned, but he didn’t meet her eyes, his cheek twitching. He kept his voice low, measured, but she could feel something simmering below the surface. She’d thought he wasn’t a misogynistic prick, but maybe he didn’t like a girl who spoke her mind, after all. She didn’t think that was true, but there was something seething there she couldn’t put her finger on.

“I thought we could talk about it like adults.”

“Yeah, well we can’t. Because I’m a child, remember? And in a couple months, I’ll be going to my mother’s in Boston. In my house we don’t trade weeks, we trade years. I spent last year here, now I’ll be doing my senior year in Boston, and I’ll be out of your hair. No use getting all emotionally hung-up over a fantastic night of sex. Right?”

“Lacey, this isn’t what I wanted.” She didn’t know how to interpret that. Or the way he was looking at her with those honey-brown eyes. He looked hurt, and none of this was making any sense to her. He was the one who’d started it. He was the one who didn’t want to be seen with her, who wanted to be done with her. Wasn’t he?

“Well, it’s what you get, so why don’t you just take me back to town and we can be done here.” She pulled off his shirt and flung it at him. Let him stare! Let him watch her walk out of his life in all her glory! Lacey turned and stomped naked to the bedroom to gather her things, leaving him to gape, open-mouthed, at her backside.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacey and Weaver see each other for the first time since their fight. It doesn't go well. Then we come back to present day - and things go...better.

She hadn’t seen him in two weeks. Two tortuous weeks of lying in bed at night with her skin too tight and her mind too restless to sleep. Two weeks of closing her eyes and remembering the electricity of his touch, the pleasure of his mouth and fingers, and the poor substitute of her own fingers visiting between her thighs for some modicum of relief. Weaver knew where she was if he wanted to apologize, but he hadn’t come into the Rabbit Hole or Granny’s since she’d spent the night at the cabin. She knew where he was, too, but she’d be damned if she was going to go find him. 

“Why so glum, sister?” Leroy asked, sitting down next to her at the counter. When Ruby passed by, he ordered coffee and eggs over easy with bacon and rye toast. Ruby shot her a sympathetic glance.

“I don’t know, Leroy, but she’s been like this for two weeks,” Ruby answered, wiping down the counter after putting in his order and pouring him a steaming cup of coffee.

Lacey was picking at her pancakes, chin resting in her hand. She pulled a face. “Nothing tastes good right now.”

“Is it a guy?” Ruby asked. “It’s got to be a guy.”

“Ugh. If it is, I don’t want any details,” Leroy grimaced. “The last thing I need is details about either of your love lives.”

“Don’t worry.” Lacey stabbed her pancakes with her fork a couple of times before dropping it on the counter with a clatter and pushing her plate away with a huff. The bell above the door tinkled. “There is no love life to give you details about. Sorry, no offense Leroy, but men are complete and utter moronic assholes, and I’m swearing off them for, like, ever and ever. A-fucking-men.” 

She looked up into the mirror above the backsplash just in time to meet Weaver’s startled eyes. His mouth flattened into a grim line and he turned on his heel, the door swinging closed behind him.

“What was that about?” Ruby set the pot of coffee on the counter, and Lacey shrugged.

“Who knows?” Lacey answered. 

“He looked like he saw a ghost,” Leroy offered. Ruby set his plate of bacon and eggs in front of him and he shrugged, tucking in. 

Lacey sighed, pushing her plate away and rummaging in her purse. She handed Ruby a ten. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Ruby folded the bill and tucked it in her apron. “You sure you’re ok? You look like  _ you’ve _ seen a ghost.”

Lacey glanced out the window in time to see Weaver slump into his Charger and smack the steering wheel several times, obviously swearing like a champ. After a moment, he slammed the door, squealing the tires as he sped off, back to that stupid cabin in the woods. When she turned back, Ruby was staring at her with an open mouth.

“The cop?” Ruby breathed, still gaping like a fish.

“He told you he was a cop?” Lacey asked, surprised. 

“Honey, I’m a waitress in a diner. I can spot a cop a mile away, even a retired one.” She put her hands on her hips and stared pointedly at Lacey. “I can also spot a couple of lovestruck idiots a mile away as well. I see a  _ lot  _ of drama in this place.”

“Not lovestruck.” Lacey muttered, tracing patterns in the condensation rings on the countertop. “Fuckstruck?”

“Lacey!” Ruby snatched her plate and dumped it in a grey plastic bin under the counter with a clatter.

“He definitely doesn’t love me.” Lacey wanted to crawl under the nearest table. He didn’t even want to talk to her or apparently be in the same room with her.

“But you guys…” She leaned down, putting her elbows on the counter and cradling her chin in her hands, grinning like a loon.

“Yeah,” Lacey muttered. “One night after the Rabbit Hole. Like two weeks ago. It was fucking amazing.”

“So it’s true what they say about older guys?” Ruby waggled her eyebrows, her scarlet lips in a wide smile. “Experience counts?”

“If it ain’t experience, he must be a natural. I think he made me come like a dozen times that night,” Lacey sighed, twirling the straw in her glass of iced tea.

Leroy made a gagging sound and pushed away the rest of his food. He shot the two of them a dirty look before slapping down a ten, shoving his hat back on his head, and stomping out of the diner without a word. The two girls giggled.

“Wow. That’s impressive. He doesn’t look the type, but you never know what’s under the hood, eh? No little blue pills?” Ruby nudged her shoulder and Lacey shook her head, laughing.

“Nope. Not a little blue pill in sight. I can tell you he gets hard as a rock at the drop of a hat, and he’s packing,” Lacey confirmed. “I dunno. The minute I laid eyes on him, I figured him for someone who’d gladly make me see stars, and I wasn’t wrong. He had his fingers inside me in like two and a half minutes by the washroom at the Rabbit Hole.” Lacey sighed, her heart thumping at the memory, and Ruby just gaped at her. “Only took him like another two and a half to make me come harder than I have ever in my whole bloody life. Like stars and fireworks and little dancing penguins and the whole choc a bloc.”

“Woah.”

“And he performs fucking magic with that tongue of his.” Lacey kicked at the counter, tapping the straw into the glass while Ruby giggled and bussed Leroy’s seat, wiping down the counter. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

“Why not?” She paused in her wiping, waiting to hear why a guy that could give a girl a dozen orgasms in seven hours would get kicked to the curb so unceremoniously.

“The next morning we had a pretty big fight.” Lacey stood up, gathering her things. “We haven’t spoken since, so my guess is he’s moved on and decided he didn’t want to deal with some bloody psycho who’s gone fucking troppo. I might embarrass him here at the diner or something.”

Ruby shook her head. “Uh-uh. That was not the face of a man who has moved on.”

Lacey shrugged. “He hasn’t called or stopped by the Hole to apologize or anything.”

“Was it his fault?” Ruby looked at her, raising one eyebrow in question.

“We were both being… difficult. I may have been the one to tell him to fuck off.”

“Well take it from me, he ain’t over you. And the scowl on your face and the fact that you haven’t eaten a whole pancake in two weeks tells me you ain’t over him either.” A bell rung and she tucked her order pad in her apron and grabbed two plates of steaming food from the window and stomped off to deliver them to waiting patrons, calling over her shoulder as she brushed by, “Maybe you should just talk to him.”

Lacey stared at the spot where his Charger had sat, following the tire tracks with her eyes as they disappeared into the street, the tightness in her chest reaching up and stealing her breath. There was no way in hell she was gonna put herself out there to be rejected, regardless of what Ruby had said. Rejection was her whole fucking life, and this time it was her turn to be in control.

She didn’t see Weaver in town again before she left for Boston at the end of May.

* * *

 

_ Present day _

Lacey was staring out the window, and Weaver was trying his damndest to control his thoughts, the pounding of his heart, the way his breath wanted to catch in his throat. Clutching her books to her chest like a shield, she stared down at the courtyard full of students scurrying around like ants on their way to their next class. Shouts and laughter drifted in as Weaver commandeered a student on his way to the next period. He sent a note on to Lacey’s next teacher that she’d be late.

Maybe he should have just let her go. Pretended like nothing ever happened. It was nothing to her, he was nothing to her, anyway, by all appearances. Six months. Six months of trying to get her out of his system and she was standing there, chewing on her bottom lip and goddammit she wasn’t supposed to  _ be _ here!

Standing there, looking like a fucking goddess with the sunlight streaming in and highlighting those auburn curls all pinned up, exposing the thin column of her neck, the flash of her pale throat. Perfect bare legs above tempting heels, leading his eye to where her tiny skirt clung to firm, generous curves and straight on to where he knew just how hot and wet and sweet she would be. Weaver closed his eyes, steeling himself.  _ Fuck. _ When he opened them again, she was staring at him with hooded eyes, her mouth in a petulant pout, plump and flush and utterly arousing.  _ Fuck! _

“What are you playing at?” He demanded, throwing up his hands. Her blue eyes flashed, her expression hardening. It stole his breath how quickly she could switch from fire to ice. Life with Miss French would never be boring, that was certain, and he had to work once again to shove aside the thoughts of just how fiery she could be.

“What do you mean?” Lacey dropped her books on his desk and folded her arms, her eyes narrowing.

“Why would you take my class?” He sounded like an accusatory arse, even in his own ears, but for God’s sake, he would never have taken this job if he thought for a second she’d be here at the school. Never mind in his bloody class. He’d taken great pains to avoid her haunts until he knew she was gone to Boston. Not that he hadn’t wanted to see her, because fuck-all, he had, but he hadn’t wanted to make her feel uncomfortable or pressured. He hadn’t wanted to out himself as a sentimental fool who’d fallen in love with her the moment she stormed out of the Rabbit Hole all those months ago, head held high. He hadn’t wanted to torture himself or her if he’d been nothing more to her than a way to satisfy her burgeoning curiosity. 

“You think I knew? I figured it was gonna be Sheriff Graham or one of his deputies! How was I to know you crawled out of your bloody cave in the damn woods to teach a bunch of high schoolers?” Lacey threw her arms wide in a gesture of helpless denial. His eyebrows shot up and he clenched his jaw, but he didn’t interrupt.“I didn’t even want to take this stupid class, but I fucking need the credits and I wasn’t about to do ROTC!” She stomped her foot. Gods, but her fire made him want to just tangle his fingers in her messy hair and fucking kiss her. He had to get a damn grip.

“You said you were going back to Boston.” Weaver paced the room. He waved a hand, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the city, four hours away. “I would never have taken this bloody job if I thought you could potentially be a student.”

“Things change.” She seemed to shrink a little at that, picking fretfully at her nails. Flakes of lacquer the color of dried blood drifted to the floor. 

“They certainly have. The problem is the relationship between us is now illegal. You’re a minor and my student.”

“Yeah well I’m not gonna tell anyone if you bloody don’t.” 

“That’s not the fucking point!” He raked his fingers through his hair, spinning on the balls of his feet to face her, the muscle in his cheek twitching.

“Look, don’t get pissed at me. I didn’t get to make the decisions here.” Lace fumed, pacing, stomping up and down the room, her hands fluttering. “I went to Boston and I got sent back. My fucking mother didn’t want me because her creepy-ass boyfriend wouldn’t stop staring at my tits every time I came downstairs for dinner!” She turned away from him to face the window, but not before he saw how bright her eyes were. How close to tears she was, some of her bravado fled. He wanted to storm down to Boston and shake some sense into the woman who called herself Lacey’s mother. He knew all too well the burden and the heartache of having terrible parents, no matter how thick one pretended one’s skin was. He leaned heavily on the desk, tenting his fingers and watching her.

“What am I supposed to do with you?” She straightened up and spun around, mirroring his pose on the other side of the desk, displaying her cleavage to distracting advantage. Her eyes glinted, her lips curving up into a wicked smile. That smile would be the death of him, he was certain.

“Lock that bloody door, lay me across this desk, and fuck me until I scream like you and I both know you want to.” She licked her lips, and he felt his cock twitch in his jeans.

“Yes, well, what I want and what I can have are two very different things right now.” She was right. What he wanted more than anything was to pull her across the desk and kiss her and hold her and bury himself inside her and take away her pain, his pain, but that path led to destruction, for both of them.

“So you do want me.” Her eyes were wide and darkened with desire, and she leaned closer across the desk, letting her low cut top fall open until he could see the rounded tops of her breasts, the edges of her dusky pink nipples barely covered in coral lace. He wanted to bury his face there and breathe in her clover-honey scent. God, he was a monster.

“Of course I want you. How could I not?” He was a broken man. Wanting her so badly, even when it was so wrong for her. What could he give her, but his cracked soul and the pleasures of the flesh. He could love her. Oh, gods but he could love her. But how could that possibly make her life better? She was so much more than what she showed the world, and he wished he could make her see that. “Stop teasing me, Lacey.”

“Teasing you? You’ve barely looked at me,” Lacey huffed.

“Yes, but I know what you look like under that little dress. What you smell like. That those ridiculous, strappy little heels lead to perfect calves and on up to pale thighs that lead straight to the most perfect little cunt. That you taste like fucking heaven when you come on my tongue.” He was pleading with her now. Pleading for her to have mercy on his damned soul. “You’re fucking teasing me with what I bloody well know I can’t have. What I shouldn’t have. You deserve so much more than a man who’s seen too much life to be good for you.”

“Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Morals. Back to ruin our day.” Lacey gave him a wry smirk and a flick of her impertinent chin, auburn curls bouncing.

“Lacey, I thought if I left you alone you’d find someone your own age. Move on.” He looked down at the desk, swallowing hard and trying to get ahold of himself.

“God, Weaver. Don’t you think I tried?” Lacey stood, throwing up her hands and beginning to pace again.  “Fuck, I spent the whole summer trying to get laid. I thought, OK, I’m not a virgin anymore. This should be easy. But it wasn’t. Hot guys, nerdy guys, young, old. It didn’t matter. I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t.”

He swallowed hard, looking away. What could he say?  _ Sorry I got under your skin like you got under mine? _

“I couldn’t get past  _ touching _ a single one of them.” She stalked over to him, heels clicking, balling her fists in his shirt and giving him a tiny shake. Her eyes were stormy and grey as the sea in winter, fixed on the grip of his shirt in her hands. “The minute they put their hands on me, it felt wrong. I couldn’t bear it.”

“Lacey…” His adam’s apple bobbed and he felt her eyes flicker down to stare at it. 

“It was like I was cheating,” she whispered, trembling.

“I’ve never pretended to lay any claim on you,” he insisted, laying his hands over hers and feeling her melt into his touch, her hips nudging against him where he was hard and aching from just thinking about her. “You’re your own person. I have no right to be jealous.”

“I know that!” She snapped before reining herself in, shaking her head and taking a deep breath so as not to break the spell that was coalescing around them. “It’s one of the things I lo… appreciate most about you.” She caught herself, and hoped the little slip had gone past without notice. “You see me as a whole person. Me. Lacey. No one’s ever done that before. I’ve only ever been the conquest. The problem child. The homewrecker. With you, I’m just me and it scares the shit out of me. Am I enough? I’ve never been enough for anyone. Not my teachers. Certainly not my parents. How could I ever be enough for an accomplished man like you?” 

He brought her hands to his mouth and kissed them reverently, pressing his lips first to one and then the other before tucking them under his chin. He could hear the noise of classes ending, sound filling the corridors, laughter and the squeak of sneakers on the polished floors and the excited shouts of students and teachers as they filed out for the day. 

“Of course you are, sweetheart.” He could feel the sting of tears beneath his eyelids, his heart breaking for her that she should always see herself as less than, because the people she should have been able to trust had let her down so very badly. “You’re...wonderful. Believe me. I wasn’t pushing you away because that’s what I wanted. I thought I was protecting you, trying to do what’s best for you. I’m a worn out old man who’s seen far too much of this rotten world. All I can do is corrupt you.”

“Corrupt me?” She snorted, pushing back a little to look up at him through the thick, dark crescents of her lashes. “The only thing my mother could imagine this summer while I was there was that I was fucking her boyfriend behind her back, and you’re honestly worried you’ll corrupt  _ me _ ? I’m no angel, Weaver.” 

Her lips were plump and pink, her face tilted up just perfectly to capture her lips in a kiss. All he had to do was bend his head only a little and her breath was ghosting over his lips, cool and sweet. Weaver shuddered, closing his eyes and letting his mouth brush against hers, his arms going around her slender form to hold her tight against his body. He heard the tiny moan that escaped her throat as his rigid, aching cock brushed against her hip. 

“Oh, but you are,” he breathed. “Gods, Lacey, you are an angel as certain as I’ve ever been of anything in my entire life.” He let his lips play gently over hers as he spoke. Lacey was frozen, her lips parted, little gasps of air puffing against his mouth. He cupped her cheeks, stroking with his thumbs until she opened her eyes and stared into his, the storm clouds breaking. There was a lump in his throat, his lower lip trembling just slightly. “I just don’t know if you’re an angel of mercy or of destruction. Whether you’ll save my soul or damn me.”

He wanted to devour her, part her lips with his tongue and lose himself in the feel of her, the taste of her.

“Maybe we should find out?” She whispered, nipping at his lower lip, her hands sliding down to cup his ass and tug him against her center. Weaver could feel her heat against his hard length. He growled, parting her lips and thrusting his tongue between them, probing and tasting, twisting them around and lifting her to sit on the edge of his desk. Lacey wrapped her legs around his thighs, locking her heels behind him, pressing her breasts to his chest while she ground against him.

He groaned into her mouth and she answered him, breathy little moans as she sucked and bit at his lower lip. Lacey’s fingers fumbled between them to pull at his belt buckle and Weaver pulled away, gasping as she reached in to stroke the length of him, already burning for her. He pressed his forehead to hers, both of them panting. 

“I missed you,” he whispered, hands sliding under her skirt and up her thighs, teasing at the waistband of the tiny thong he knew she was wearing. Lacey lifted her hips, and Weaver dragged them down her legs, pausing to press them to his mouth and nose, inhaling deeply, and letting out a contented sigh before tossing them over his shoulder with a flick of his eyebrows. 

“God, I missed you, too,” Lacey moaned sliding his blunt head through her dripping folds and rubbing it against her clit before lining him up and pressing towards him until he slipped just inside. “Please, Weaver, I need you inside me. Please.”

Weaver thrust deep, her silky, wet heat surrounding him, grasping at him, and pulling him deeper. It was like coming home, and he bit his cheek hard enough to taste blood, as much to keep himself from blurting out that he loved her as to keep from disgracing himself and disappointing her. Mercifully, Lacey leaned back, crumpling papers and scattering books across his desk, bracing back on her hands and locking her feet behind him.

He dug his fingers into her hips and concentrated on the way she felt around him. He focused his mind on how blissful it felt to just let go and grind himself into her, pulling her down hard and rotating his pelvis every time he buried his cock balls deep and making her whimper and moan and writhe beneath him. Her head was thrown back, and she was biting her lower lip in an effort to stay quiet as he pounded into her, his heart slamming against his ribs, little grunts of effort escaping his throat.

“Fuck, Weaver! Oh, God,” she groaned as his hips snapped against her, lifting up on his toes and angling to hit that spot inside her that would take her to the moon and back and make her see stars. She collapsed back, knocking his nameplate and a cup full of pens and other oddments to the floor with a noisy clatter. 

Lacey stuffed her fist in her mouth, arching up off the desk and groaning like a wild thing when he brought his thumb to her clit, flicking and stroking and rubbing until her entire body went taut, her sweet cunt tightening like a vise. Her thighs clasped his hips, shaking and trembling, her flesh drawing him in and clenching around him, milking his cock as he spurted into her with a feral growl, spilling himself in cresting waves, her slick, wet heat searing him. He collapsed forward onto his elbows, his hands on either side of her face, kissing her messily and panting into her mouth until he slipped out of her with a shiver.    


Lacey shuddered beneath him, her hair half down and tumbled across his desk with all his papers and her books. She turned her face away, still breathing hard, as he lifted himself off her and righted his clothing. Weaver gave her his hand and helped her gently to her feet, smoothing down her skirt and resting his hands at her waist. Their foreheads came together and they simply stood there a moment, basking, no words, just their breaths evening out, their heartbeats slowly returning to normal.

After a moment, Weaver pressed his lips to Lacey’s forehead before shooting her a wry grin. “C’mon, let’s clean this up and I’ll drop you home if you like.” She nodded, moving quietly to pick up her scattered books while Weaver bent down to retrieve the pencil cup and its upended contents. It took only a few moments, Weaver straightening and organizing the papers that had been compromised. He tossed her the keys to his Charger from across the room, and smiled when Lacey snatched them neatly from the air.

“Go on down and wait in the car. I’ll be along in a moment.”

* * *

Lacey caught the keys with a little snicker and trotted off, noting with some dismay that his classroom door had remained unlocked while they had fucked like animals on his desk. The corridors were silent and Lacey could hear her own heartbeat loud in her ears. She pressed her lips together to keep from shouting for joy. He had feelings, too. It wasn’t just her aching for him unrequited in a void. Weaver wanted her, cared for her, and it felt blissful to know that even if she couldn’t exactly shout her love from the rooftops right away, they would find a way forward together.

She sat in the car, basking in the afterglow of the physical encounter as well as the emotional one. She knew there were still obstacles to overcome, and she was pretty sure they were going to be difficult. The fact was that he was now her teacher, and the implications of that were not lost on her. Lacey could see the tightness and the strain in his eyes when he got in the car, even though he grinned at her before gunning the engine and pulling out on Main Street.

Weaver didn’t ask her to hide, and drove her home straight down Main, but she was sure he would not put his hands on her in the cold light of day. They were going to have to sneak around, and that wasn’t going to be fun or easy. It would most likely put a strain on their relationship, but Lacey felt up to it. Being without him for the last six months had reiterated to her how much she really liked him, missed him, and wanted to be with him, no matter the struggle.

“You OK?” Weaver glanced over at her, and she could still see the conflict in his eyes, the worry and guilt etched in his features. She nodded, a goofy grin spreading across her face. Lacey wished she could kiss away all his troubles, all his worries and concerns, but her strain eased off a bit when he returned her besotted smile. “I could take you back to the cabin…”

“No, no. It’s fine.” She shook her head. “Dad’s gonna expect dinner on the table when he gets home. It sucks, but that’s my life right now. He couldn’t give a fuck if I’m home or if I go to school or not, just as long as his bloody supper is on the table by six.” He parked up in the alley behind her house and took the car out of gear.

“Lacey, that’s not gonna be your life forever.” Weaver took her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb, his sincerity warm and comforting in the dark depths of his eyes. “We’ll work it out. I promise.”

Lacey nodded, tears pricking at her eyelids. She almost believed him when he talked like that. Almost believed there was a way out of this dead end life in this dead end town. Weaver came around, opening the door for her and offering his hand to help her out of the car. He walked her to the back door, up the cement steps and held the storm door while she unlocked, slipping inside and letting the screen door slam behind them with a bang.

Lacey pulled him flush against her, sliding her hands up his back and burying her fingers in his hair. Weaver bent to kiss her eagerly, his arms circling her waist before sliding one hand up to cup her breast, thumb stroking over her nipple as his mouth teased and plucked. Lacey opened for him, darting her tongue out to swipe against his lower lip, sucking on that little divot that made her heart thump and her juices flow. He was so hot, his body eager for her again already and she would have loved nothing better than to let him lay her down on the living room rug and trail that soft, sweet mouth of his down to where he would make her scream and writhe for him. She knew he wanted to.

Instead she broke away, panting, watching his eyes darken with lust, those full lips parted, his chest heaving. He swept his tongue out to lick his lips and she groaned, his hand kneading her through her shirt.

“Ugh. I’d love nothing more than to go for round two, but we can’t, he’s gonna be home in like half an hour.” She hated,  _ hated _ , pushing him away, but he nodded, sliding his hands up to cup her cheeks and pressing his forehead to hers.

“Of course, sweetheart. Let’s talk about this later, ok?” 

Lacey nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna probably head down to the Rabbit Hole and play some pool, OK?”

He laughed, but gave her a stern look. “It’s a school night, young lady. Don’t stay out all night.”

“Promise,” she giggled. “You could stop by…”

“Uh, uh.” He shook his head, “You know we can’t be seen together.”

Lacey closed her eyes, nodding. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” Weaver gave her a tiny shake, just enough to get her to look at him. “Hey, it’s gonna be ok, right? We just have to keep our hands to ourselves in public and be really careful. You’re gonna be good tomorrow in class, right? Just keep it together. We’ll talk about everything this weekend, ok? Give us both time to think about what we want, how to make it work. All right?”

“Ok. Yeah, I’ll be good. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“Oh, I’m already in trouble, I think. But let’s not tempt fate.” His cheeky smile pulled up to one side.

Lacey barked out a short laugh, and Weaver swallowed it down with a quick kiss before darting out the screen door and letting it slam behind him. Her heart was warm and full as she waved him off with a smile, his engine roaring to life and rumbling as he sped away. Her stomach was still full of dancing butterflies, but now they were waltzing and pirouetting like seasoned pros, the music calm and melodic and the dance sedate but joyful.

Even poking through the half-empty fridge and the cabinets littered with canned and boxed food and deciding what to make for her ungrateful father couldn’t dim her spirits or wipe away the satisfied smile that pulled at her lips.

* * *

Keith Nott flipped back a lock of greasy hair and watched through narrowed eyes as the asshole former detective that had come between himself and Lacey practically skipped back to his car. He tossed his keys, catching them in his hand with a stupid grin. He ducked in and started up the car revving the engine before peeling out of the driveway to Lacey’s house. Keith let out a nasty chuckle, swiping and tapping on his phone. Making sure he saved the video he’d just spent the last ten minutes recording.

He’d been holed up in Gary Gaston’s house drinking beer and playing on Gary’s Switch when he’d heard the telltale rumbling of a muscle car outside. Sure enough, the troublesome cop and Lacey got out and started making out right in her doorway. It was too good to be true.

He’d grabbed his phone and hit record, grinning to himself the whole time. 


End file.
